


Refugee

by Commander



Series: Refugee [2]
Category: Powerpuff Girls
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, F/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-08
Updated: 2006-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 11:54:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Commander/pseuds/Commander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perfect memory... is it a blessing? Blossom Utonium would be quick to tell you otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Doctor Faustus

**Author's Note:**

> Ah... Refugee. Probably my most hated fanfic, judging by the amount of flames it garnered on FF.net. :) I guess some people can't handle Mojo's sexiness...
> 
> Seriously, though, I actually do have quite a few issues with this story, but there's also a lot about it that I like. Seeing as it was a major turning point in my writing career (my first M rated story, my first multi-chaptered story that I actually wrote out completely before publishing the first chapter, my first flame (and then some)), I still have to rank it pretty high, I guess. :)
> 
> I'm not going to warn for bestiality, by the way, because the actual species of two chemically mutated beings like Mojo and Blossom is up to much debate. I'll just say that yes, there's sex, but they're both highly intelligent beings on the same mental level. Actually, it's more Blossom's young age (fifteen) and her rather dubious consent that's probably more of an issue than their species. But there you go. Consider yourself warned for the hot monkey sex. ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoy... but feel free to flame if you don't. I find flames amusing. ;)

Blossom Utonium HATED school.

With a passion.

Surprising? Well, from the limited perspective of "she's the smartest Powerpuff Girl, so she _must _like school!" then perhaps. But it was precisely Blossom's astronomical intelligence that made her despise school so much.

She was being taught things that she had known for _years. _

She was fifteen years old. Ten, actually, but her father, Professor Utonium, had created her and her sisters as five-year-olds and had convinced the school system to place them accordingly. And yet that still wasn't enough for Blossom. She was in senior level classes while only a sophomore—and she never, ever got a grade lower than an A plus. This stemmed more from just an astounding level of understanding.

Blossom had perfect memory. It didn't matter when she had read it, when she had heard it, when it had happened to her—Blossom remembered _everything. _Every. Last. Detail. She could recite, word-perfect, movies that she had only seen once. It had taken awhile for herself and the Professor to realize this new superpower—and her sisters were _not _pleased. Especially Buttercup. It had to be _Blossom _with the really special powers—there had always been that leadership ability, then there was the ice breath, and now the memory?

Well, having perfect memory wasn't all Buttercup was chalking it up to be. Battles that had long since faded out of Bubbles and Buttercup's minds were still crystal-clear to Blossom. Every nerve-wracking decision. Every mocking sneer from whatever villain they had been facing. And, depending on the particular episode, every mistake. Every death of an innocent civilian. Every ill-planned move… always on Blossom's part.

She was often accused of being too analytical, but with such a power like hers, how could she help but be otherwise? She would have gladly given up her power to Buttercup if she could. There were so many memories that she would love to be rid of forever. Memories that reminded her how screwed up she had been—for her entire life, basically. No one should remember her crush from the age five this well—even if the object of said crush went on to play a _major _role in the next few years of her life, as Blossom's had!

Of course, that crush—that connection, that union of souls, more like it—was just another factor of what made Blossom a freak. Even compared to her sisters—and heaven knows, they were far from normal themselves.

"I swear, I am far too young to be getting carpal tunnel syndrome."

Blossom had been sitting outside of the school building, waiting for her sisters to arrive. It was the end of the school day, and for some reason Buttercup and Bubbles were always slower coming out than Blossom.

Buttercup flexed her left hand painfully. "Why would I even get carpal tunnel syndrome anyway? I don't even have fingers."

"Were you doing anything strenuous with your hands today?" Blossom asked.

"No!" cried Buttercup. "Nothing that would really make it feel this sore, at least. I mean, it's not like I take notes or anything…"

"You ought to," said Blossom. "Your grades might improve."

"You're one to talk," snapped Buttercup. "You never study."

"I don't need to," sighed Blossom, sounding as if she had explained this for the hundredth time. Actually, it was the hundred and thirty-second time, to be precise… because Blossom could remember every time Buttercup made such a snippety comment. "I remember everything the first time I read it…"

"I know, I know," interrupted Buttercup. "Must be easy for you."

"You could do better, if you just applied yourself more," said Blossom sternly. Buttercup—and Bubbles too, for that matter—were both very intelligent, but for various reasons they both had their struggles in the classroom. Buttercup's were due to just plain apathy. She had no desire to expound any more effort than what was necessary. As for Bubbles, she did try but she was far too easily distracted by other things to spend a decent amount of time studying. Still, they both managed to get fairly decent grades, despite this.

Speaking of Bubbles…

"Have you seen Bubbles?" Buttercup asked Blossom.

"Not since jazz band," said Blossom.

"Usually I'm the last one out here," said Buttercup. "I wonder what's taking her so long?"

"I'm here, I'm here!" called out Bubbles's sing-song voice as she ran up to her sisters. "Sorry I'm late! I had an essay test for Ms. Malcolm—I was writing nonstop for forty-five minutes! And I still wasn't finished by the time the bell rang! It was murder!"

"Ugh, I feel your pain," said Buttercup. "I'm glad I got Mr. Otto for history instead."

"Are you girls ready to go home?" asked Blossom.

"Been ready," said Buttercup, shooting an offending glance at the high school. "Let's roll!"

The girls took off to the sky, hearing clearly a new student in town gasp, "Oh my God! Look at that!"

"All these new people to Townsville are so cute," said Bubbles with a giggle. "You'd think they've never seen anyone fly before!"

"Bubbles, they most likely _have_ neverseen anyone fly before," sighed Blossom wearily.

"Are you alright, Blossom?" Buttercup asked. "You've been acting really out of it these past few days. Is something the matter?"

"Well, it's—it's nothing," said Blossom quietly. She was lying through her teeth—it was actually something huge. It was just a few days ago that she had seen someone she had never hoped to see again, and in doing so found out how short her life was going to be.

She might even be dying at this very moment… and it was all his fault.

"Like hell it's nothing," said Buttercup. "You haven't smiled for at least a week! Not that you smile much anymore anyway…"

"I'm worried too, Blossom," said Bubbles, her eyes wide with concern. "I remember back when we were little kids you were happy all the time, but you just seem so sad and depressed all the time. And now you're even sadder and depressed-er!"

"More depressed," corrected Buttercup. "Bubbles, you still talk like a five-year-old."

"It's my memory, Bubbles," said Blossom, focusing her eyes on the ground as the girls flew at a leisurely pace to their home. "Think of what it would be like, to remember everything that ever happened to you as clearly as if it were still happening, right at this very moment. It would be hard enough for someone with a relatively easy life, but for people like us… all the bad things we've experienced…"

"We've experienced good things too," said Bubbles softly. "Maybe you should try to remember them."

"I try, Bubbles," said Blossom, turning to Bubbles and giving her a comforting smile. It rather hurt her lips to do that. _They're right—it HAS been awhile since I've smiled, _Blossom thought to herself.

The girls landed at their suburban house and walked inside. "We're home, Professor!" Buttercup called.

There were a few moments of silence—abruptly broken when Professor Utonium flung open the door to his laboratory. His hands seemed to be stained with various chemicals—as they usually were. "Hi girls!" he said cheerfully. "How was school?"

"Okay, I guess," said Buttercup.

"Not for me! I had two tests!" cried Bubbles piteously.

"It was boring, as always, Professor," sighed Blossom.

The Professor gave Blossom a thoughtful look. "You know, Blossom, you're welcome to borrow any of my books on nuclear fission—"

"I read them all six years ago," said Blossom.

"Oh… really?" asked the Professor. "I didn't know that you—"

"The last one I read was 'The Future of Nuclear Fission Testing', written by Dr. Ian Quint, and I read that one on June eighteenth, more than six years ago."

Buttercup scowled. "Alright, now you're just showing off."

"Well, Blossom…" the Professor said slowly, "to tell you the truth I am a bit concerned for you—"

"You can save it," said Blossom, her eyes downcast. "Bubbles and Buttercup just said the same thing."

"But I am," emphasized the Professor. "A brain like yours should be constantly growing and developing. School should _enhance _you, not bore you."

"What more can I do?" asked Blossom, her voice sounding desperate. "When I remember every single thing I've ever read, all I can do is study languages and play sports, since at least those vary each time they're played! And I've already taught myself Spanish, French, German, Portuguese, Latin, Chinese, Japanese, Italian, Russian, Hungarian, Arabic, Greek, Hebrew, Filipino, Yiddish, Hindi, and Swahili—and you know how impossible it is to find books and programs to help you learn any other languages than that! And I can't join any sports teams at school. It wouldn't be fair to the other players, because of my super powers."

"Whoa, wait… _how _many languages can you speak again?" asked Bubbles in shock.

"Eighteen," said Blossom, sounding disappointed in herself.

"You're muscling into _my _special superpower," Bubbles grumbled. "How would you like it if I got ice breath?"

"Now, Bubbles," said the Professor, putting an arm around his blonde daughter, "Blossom had to learn all those languages on her own, while you were _born _with the ability to understand all forms of communication."

"Oh yes, I know sign language too," added Blossom. "I neglected to classify that as a language."

"Ah, so you _did _forget something!" cried Buttercup.

"I didn't _forget!" _cried Blossom indignantly. "It was merely an oversight! Besides, I can only read sign language when someone else uses it. I can't use it… because **I don't have fingers!**"

"_**Neither do we!" **_shrieked Bubbles and Buttercup.

"That's enough, girls!" cried the Professor, standing between Blossom on one side and Bubbles and Buttercup on the other. "Now, I can tell that all three of you had a trying day at school. Maybe you should spend some time away from each other for awhile!"

"We don't need to be seperat—" Buttercup began.

"Alone time sounds wonderful," Blossom interrupted. "I'll be in our room. Don't disturb me." Without leaving any time for argument, Blossom shot up the stairs and up to their room.

Bubbles and Buttercup exchanged a "something is definitely wrong with her" look amongst themselves.

…

Blossom sat on her bed in the girls' room, debating to herself whether or not to tell her sisters who she had seen again, after all those years… or whether she should keep it to herself.

She was definitely leaning towards the latter. Explaining her sudden sullenness—drastic even by her standards—would cause even more questions. Questions that Blossom did not care to answer. Questions, in fact, that Blossom couldn't even answer herself.

Blossom gulped, having made her decision. She wasn't going to tell them. Heck, Bubbles and Buttercup had probably nearly forgotten about Mojo Jojo, it had been so long since they had encountered him—no, that was ridiculous. It had been six years, but Mojo had caused them so much trouble the first four years of their lives that there was no way even Bubbles and Buttercup could forget him.

Neither could Blossom, even if she _didn't _have perfect memory.

Her stomach tightened as she felt herself reliving that memory _again—_he BETRAYED her, he CRUSHED her, she had TRUSTED him, RESPECTED him, ADMIRED him, LOVED him with all the fervor of a lost little girl, and he turned around and broke her heart.

A slight knock on the door thankfully broke Blossom out of her melancholy musings.

"Blossom? Can I come in?" It was Bubbles.

"Sure," said Blossom. No sense in keeping Bubbles out… then she'd _really _be worried.

Bubbles hovered over to Blossom's bed—the girls still shared a room, but there was a twin sized bed in each of three corners of the room now, with the door in the fourth corner. Blossom moved over, giving Bubbles room to sit down.

"Blossom, you know that you can tell me anything, right?" Bubbles started immediately. "If you had some secret that you wanted to get off your chest, you know I'd never tell."

"Yeah, I know," smiled Blossom. "Don't worry about me, Bubbles. I'm fine."

"You don't really _seem _fine," Bubbles insisted, almost harshly. "Something's the matter with you, Buttercup's right! Is it…" Bubbles's voice grew low. "…_boy _troubles?"

"You might say that," Blossom mumbled before she could stop herself.

"Ooh, now we're getting somewhere," smiled Bubbles.

"No, Bubbles, it's not that—"

"Care to tell me who? You don't have to if you don't want—"

"I don't want to tell you, and trust me Bubbles, you don't want me to tell you either."

"It's that bad?" Bubbles looked surprised. _"He's _that bad? He isn't…" Bubbles's eyes narrowed slightly. She probably hadn't even meant to glare at her. But it happened.

"No, Bubbles," said Blossom with a smile. "It's not any of them."

Bubbles cleared her throat and sat up straighter, a sure sign of relief. Blossom continued to smile, despite the absurdity of the thought. Yes, everyone—even Bubbles—seemed to assume that the Powerpuff Girls would, in fact, wind up falling for villains! Of course, however, these supposed villain boyfriends weren't as… well, disturbing as the thought of any of the girls harboring feelings for Mojo.

Oh no, not _that _villain. But the Rowdyruff Boys? _That _was a whole 'nother matter.

Well, calling them villains was rather generous to them at this point in time, Blossom reflected. When they were younger they had been obsessed with trying to destroy the Powerpuff Girls, but nowadays the boys would only fight the girls if they got in their way—their way of pranks and general tomfoolery. Now, they were really nothing more than the Gangreen Gang with superpowers. None of them did anything for Blossom—they were crude, idiotic, and foul. Buttercup, too, had no interest in them (other than feeding them knuckle sandwiches when the situation warranted it), but then again, she'd never had much romantic interest in boys anyway.

Bubbles did, however. Blossom and Buttercup knew the signs of an incoming crush for Bubbles—she would suddenly get very, _very _chatty when the name of a guy she found hot was mentioned. Normally Bubbles kept good eye contact, but when conversing with a crush, her eyes would divert to the floor. And Blossom had noticed this the last time the girls had to deal with the Rowdyruff Boys. With two of them, Bubbles had more or less the confident crime-fighting face she had when facing bad guys. But the third she was unable to even look at.

But even Bubbles played with people's expectations, although it obviously wasn't even intentional. Bubbles was supposed to wind up with Boomer, right? Well, it wasn't Boomer that Bubbles was unable to look at. It was Brick.

Not that that amounted to much in the long run, anyway. Bubbles, after all, had numerous crushes. However, her busy schedule of marching band, jazz band, cheerleading, and saving the day, added with her shyness around hot guys, meant that Bubbles, just like her sisters (albeit for different reasons), was boy-free.

"Well, that's a relief!" Bubbles was saying, getting overly chatty just _thinking _about him. "I mean, a Powerpuff Girl, dating a bad guy! Can you just see how Townsville would take that? And not just any Powerpuff Girl, but the leader! I mean, you're always so strict about what's right and what's wrong, if you were to actually fall in love with a _villain, _then—"

"Alright, Bubbles, that's enough!" cried Blossom, finding that Bubbles's words were hitting too close to home. Compared to who she actually _did _secretly long for (and despise, of course—damn conflicting emotions), her having a crush on Brick seemed tame.

"Sorry," said Bubbles, giggling. "I guess I sounded a little like Mojo Jojo there. Do you remember how he'd go on and on—well, I guess you would remember, huh?"

Blossom winced. Bubbles meant well, of course, but right now she was only making things worse. "Bubbles, please, when I said I wanted to be alone, I meant it. I appreciate you trying to help, but believe me when I say that the best thing you cando to help is to not ask me why I'm feeling so bad, alright? I'd like to at least _try _to forget."

"But you can't," said Bubbles, sadly.

"That's right. I can't."

"Blossom, I'm sorry for getting mad at you in the lab just now," Bubbles blurted out. "I shouldn't be jealous. Professor's right—you can understand all those languages because you're a hard worker. I could never do that."

"That's alright," said Blossom comfortingly. "Besides, if it makes you feel any better, I'll never be able to speak any animal languages until someone writes a book about those. You've still got me beat there."

"True," giggled Bubbles.

Blossom opened her mouth to speak, but the sudden ringing of the hotline cut her off.

"Ooh, looks like we have evil to fight!" said Bubbles.

She scooted over, giving Blossom a clear path to the phone. That was one of their unspoken rules—Blossom had sole hotline-answering abilities, unless something prevented her from reaching it. Blossom never said anything, but Bubbles knew that Blossom would be terribly offended if this aspect of her authority—or any other aspects of her authority, for that matter—was intruded upon.

"Yes, Mayor?" asked Blossom after picking up the receiver.

Bubbles waited as the Mayor explained today's threat to Blossom. It was amazing, Bubbles thought to herself. For their entire lives, they had had the same Mayor… despite his age. Bubbles knew it was wrong to think this, but the Mayor seemed to be almost immortal.

"Alright, Mayor, we'll be right on it," Blossom was saying. She set the phone down and turned to Bubbles, smiling.

"What is it?" asked Bubbles.

"Better go get Buttercup. There's a monster destroying Townsville."

Bubbles dashed out of their room and down to the lab to find Buttercup, smiling the whole time. There was, of course, nothing smile-worthy of a monster destroying the city, but still, Blossom always seemed to be more confident and more like her old self when fighting crime and monsters.

And given how rarely Blossom was happy nowadays, if a disaster actually brightened her spirit, then perhaps it was almost a _good _thing.


	2. A Matter of Trust

"No, Bubbles, in the belly, not on the side!"

Bubbles looked as if she was about to scream in frustration—and Buttercup didn't blame her. The monster they were fighting had six tentacles for arms, and all six were lightning fast, ready to swap a girl out the air in milliseconds.

"Focus your eye beams on the belly!" Blossom was shouting. "That's his weak spot!"

"This—OW—creature doesn't _have _a weak side!" Buttercup hollered, having failed to properly duck from a swing of the tentacle.

"Yes it does! Its belly is unprotected! We fought a monster like this four years ago, remember?" cried Blossom.

"Hell no!" screamed Buttercup. "All the monsters I've ever fought have blurred together in my mind!"

"How did we defeat it last time?" wailed Bubbles, dodging just in time from another intended whack.

"BY ALL OF US FOCUSING OUR EYE BEAMS ON ITS BELLY!" shrieked Blossom. "Are you listening to me or _not?"_

"Yes! I am!" cried Bubbles. "It's just too hard to pay—aaah!—attention when there's something trying to destroy you!"

"On the count of three, fire your eye beams!" yelled Blossom. "One! Two! _Three!"_

Upon Blossom's order, the sisters fired their eye beams simultaneously. The monster, roaring in pain, instinctively moved a tentacle to stop the blasts—and the tentacle sizzled off and fell to the ground with a thud.

"Keep it coming!" cried Blossom.

The girls' eye beams were still growing strong, and the monster, being not exactly the brightest crayon in the box, flung another tentacle in front of his exposed stomach to protect himself. Predictably, the limb burned off—but this time went flying, straight towards the girls.

"Holy—!" shrieked Buttercup.

The tentacle came smashing down, and Blossom was caught between it and the ground. She yelled out a pained word in another language—Buttercup had no clue what word it was or even what language she was speaking, but she would bet her bass guitar that it was a curse word, especially judging by Bubbles's shocked gasp.

"Blossom!" Buttercup cried. "Are you alright? Can you get free?"

"Don't mind me!" groaned Blossom desperately. "Just finish off that monster before he destroys even more of the town!"

"Eye beams again, Bubbles!" cried Buttercup. Bubbles nodded frantically. The remaining two puffs repeated their last technique, firing a laser at the monster's smooth flesh. The monster flailed in pain again, but it seemed to have learned its lesson. Its remaining four tentacles, instead of vainly protecting its belly, were flung out to the sides.

"He's figured it out!" cried Bubbles. "What do we do, Buttercup?"

"Uh…" Buttercup stammered. Throughout her ten years of life, Buttercup had realized that, how badly she may have wanted to be the leader, she simply could not make the lightning-fast decisions that Blossom made. And in times like this, where Blossom was out of the running and the monster was still threatening, every second counted.

"Just aim for the tentacles now!" shrieked Blossom, still trapped under the monster's limb. "Fry them off—but don't split up, both of you work on the same one! Just one of you won't be able to do it yourself!"

"You heard her," said Buttercup fiercely to Bubbles. "Aim for his lower left one first! On three! One, two, _three!"_

Two sets of eye beams shot towards the monster's tentacle. The monster roared in pain again, flinging his arm out of the line of fire.

"He's moving!" wailed Bubbles.

"Well, follow it!" cried Buttercup, sounding ready to scream with rage. With a swift movement of her head, she redirected her eye beams. Bubbles quickly followed suit. The monster roared, and finally, the tentacle fell off.

"Hooray!" cried Bubbles.

"We're only halfway done—_Blossom!"_

Buttercup and Bubbles gasped as the newest burned off tentacle fell right where the second one had—which was right on top of Blossom. Blossom was unable to cry out any words this time. It was simply a garbled yell of pain.

"Screw this strategy!" cried Buttercup. "We need to punch this mother-fucker in the _gut! _C'mon, Bubbles!"

The remaining two puffs zoomed up to the monster, without any formation or plan. Bubbles was obviously following Buttercup's lead, and Buttercup was following nothing but her rage.

_ **POW!** _

Buttercup and Bubbles hit the monster at exactly the same time, and with the well-aimed blows, the monster's soft belly exploded open in a shower of guts and gore. Both girls covered their faces as the monster crashed, lifeless, to the ground.

Buttercup had never minded so much getting filthy from her superhero duties, but still, even she was a bit disgusted as blood and bits of flesh clung to her hair. She looked at Bubbles, who was fiercely keeping her mouth and eyes closed. Still, Buttercup knew exactly what she was thinking, and she could hear it quite plainly inside her own mind—"_Eeew eeew eeew eeeeeeeewwwwww!"_

When their shower was finished, Bubbles took one hand and wiped the guts off her face. Once her mouth was free, she finally let herself shout out—

"_Grooooooooooosssssssssssss!"_

"Don't worry about your hair now!" cried Buttercup. "Help me free Blossom!"

Buttercup dashed over to the two tentacles, and flung the top one off with ease. Bubbles did likewise with the second. Blossom shakily pulled herself up to her feet.

"That must have really hurt you, Blossom!" said Bubbles.

"Yeah, it's not like these are very heavy," said Buttercup.

Blossom was still trembling, but she managed to give her sisters a slight smile. "Maybe not to you, but I've never had the strength that either of you do."

Buttercup harrumphed to herself as grateful onlookers crowded around the girls, as usual demanding a few words. Blossom was right, of course… for some reason, she had never had quite the level of physical abilities as Bubbles and Buttercup had.

However, Buttercup, unlike Blossom, could act as though she'd never noticed before. She could lie and say that she didn't remember.

"Powerpuff Girls!" cried a civilian. "Give us a speech!"

"Yes! Speech!" a throng of other citizens cried in agreement.

Blossom shrugged. "What is there to say? As always, it was my leadership and strategy that saved the day."

Buttercup glared at her sister. "Look, sister, if it weren't for _my _idea to just finish the creep off in one blow, we'd still be fighting that thing!"

"But if I hadn't come up with the idea to burn off its tentacles, it wouldn't have been weakened enough to you to be able to give him that blow!"

"What are you talking about? Its weak spot was its _belly, _not its _tentacles! _We were wasting time by just zapping off its limbs one by one until _I _had the gall to attack it head on!"

"If it hadn't been for _me, _you wouldn't have even _known _that its belly was its weak spot!"

"You and your stinkin' memory! You think that it automatically makes you a better leader, but it _doesn't!"_

"STOP IT!" Bubbles screeched.

Blossom and Buttercup took a step away from each other, for during their argument they had gotten right in each others' faces. Buttercup wiped a drop of sweat from her forehead.

In all honesty, she had always respected Blossom's authority. As today's incident had plainly shown—for the umpteenth time—Buttercup simply did not have Blossom's decision-making ability… and when she ever _did _make a decision, it was often the wrong one. What irked Buttercup was that Blossom was so quick to take all the glory for herself!

When neither Blossom nor Buttercup made any further comments to the crowd, Bubbles reluctantly stepped up. "Uh, it was our pleasure to keep the town a safe and beautiful place… well, try to, although this monster did destroy some things before we got to it… and cleaning up all these tentacles could take some work… but, uh…"

Blossom sighed. "Let's just go home, girls."

…

Bubbles got the shower first. Blossom, having been shielded from the spray of guts thanks to the two tentacles, was not as dirty as her sisters. Buttercup was just as filthy as Bubbles, but she was far more willing to wait to clean up.

"I wonder why that is?" Buttercup mused, wiping grime off of her face with a rag. She and Blossom were waiting in the kitchen, eating some Christmas cookies that the Professor had just baked the other day.

Blossom looked up from her Christmas tree-shaped cookie, confused. "You wonder why _what _is?"

"What you said, you know, that you're not as strong as me and Bubbles. Why do you suppose that's the case?"

Blossom shrugged. "We all have different physical powers anyway. I've got ice breath, you can roll your tongue… so why should even the powers all three of us share be exactly alike?"

"No, why _shouldn't _they?" Buttercup insisted. "We were all created at the same time, in the same way, from the same experiment. Why are we all so different?"

"I don't know," admitted Blossom. "How can anyone know? How were we even born in the first place? If you throw sugar, spice, and various nice things in a bowl, nothing's going to happen."

"Well then, what are we _doing _here?" Buttercup asked. "I mean, it obviously worked, didn't it?"

"Yes… I think it was the addition of Chemical X to the components that caused our existence."

"So… we're not really sugar, spice, and everything nice, we're Chemical X?" Buttercup clarified.

"Oh, I don't know!" cried Blossom, putting her hands to her head. "I don't know! We were created by a freak accident—who knows how or why it happened?"

"Well, haven't you ever asked the Professor about it, little Miss-Investigator?" asked Buttercup, her speech slightly slurred due to the rather large bite of cookie in her mouth.

"No," admitted Blossom.

"Why not?"

Blossom hesitated. "I guess I'm afraid to find out," she finally murmured.

Buttercup gave Blossom a questioning look. "What are you afraid of finding, Blossom?"

Blossom gulped but said nothing.

"Okay, I'm done!" Bubbles flitted her way into the kitchen, her hair still wet. "Who's next?"

Blossom smiled softly at Buttercup. "Don't use up all the hot water, Buttercup."

…

The next day of school was the last before Christmas break, so the girls all had final exams the entire day. By the end of the day, Bubbles was ready to crawl into a little hole and faint. Spending all of Christmas break in a coma? That sounded just fine.

"How do you think you did on that biology exam?" Bubbles's locker partner and good friend, Gillian, asked her at the end of the day as they grabbed their coats out of their locker.

"There were a lot of questions that I didn't know," admitted Bubbles. "I'm kinda worried…"

"I know what you mean," sighed Gillian. "I studied for that test two hours last night, but when I went in to take that test, my mind just totally blanked."

"I didn't study at all," said Bubbles, blushing. "We had to fight that monster, then I took a shower, and then all I wanted to do was watch Christmas movies with the Professor."

"I saw you and your sisters fighting that monster on the news last night. But how come your dad let you watch movies without you studying?"

"I told him I studied already," sighed Bubbles. "When we get our grades, he's gonna know I lied to him…"

Gillian made a face that was half sympathetic, half "sucks-to-be-you". "Well, try not to let that hamper your Christmas break, okay? See you next year!"

"Yeah… next year…" Bubbles said meekly, waving to Gillian as she made a beeline to the door. Bubbles sadly shut her locker and floated her way to the door, much less energetically than Gillian had.

It wasn't fair.

Blossom was going to get an A plus on every single one of her tests, and she didn't have to study—she _never _did. Buttercup usually didn't study either, but she still usually got surprisingly decent grades—and even when she didn't, she didn't really care.

Bubbles did care, though—and she had to work her butt off to be half as good as Blossom.

She trudged her way to where her sisters were waiting for her outside, feeling nothing but jealousyOh sure, Bubbles knew that she really shouldn't be complaining, but growing up for her had decimated her role in the Powerpuff Girls. Blossom could grow up and still be the smart one, and Buttercup could grow up and still be the tough one. But it was hard, very hard, for Bubbles to retain her cuteness.

But that wasn't stopping her from trying.

"Christmas break _finally!" _cried Bubbles, smiling at her sisters. "More Christmas specials and presents and spending time with the family and—"

"Shh." Buttercup put up a hand to silence Bubbles. "I can hear a rather amusing conversation over by the drinking fountain."

The drinking fountain was, in fact, about a hundred feet away, but when the girls "turned on" their ultra-sonic hearing, the conversation of the boy and the girl was as clear as if they were speaking directly to the girls.

"You heard me," the girl was saying. "Which of the Powerpuff Girls do you think will get laid first?"

"Do they mean—" Bubbles whispered, finding herself blushing.

"Not _these _conversations again," sighed Blossom. "Do you know how many people like to place bets on which Powerpuff Girl will lose her virginity first?"

"It's amazing how stupid some people are that they actually _care _about something like that!" said Buttercup, although she was grinning, as if she took delight in other people's stupidity.

"Well, I think it'll be Bubbles," said the boy. "She's the hottest."

This time Bubbles's blush was a deep, deep red. Blossom and Buttercup just rolled their eyes at each other, however. Saying that one Powerpuff was hotter than another was only indicating what hair and eye color you liked best, as all the girls had the exact same body size and shape. Unless, of course, in the case of Bubbles you thought that girls in cheerleading outfits were hot, which many guys seemed to think.

"Yeah right," snorted the girl. "Bubbles is so innocent, she'll still be a virgin after she's been married for ten years! It'll be Buttercup. In fact, I bet Buttercup's already done it. With a girl."

"Oh no, they're not saying that you're a…" Bubbles trailed off.

Buttercup just snorted. "Amusing simple-minded idiots. I'm glad they're bringing that up! The 'Buttercup's-a-lesbian' thing has been nearly dead for awhile."

Blossom and Bubbles gave each other exasperated looks. Buttercup wasn't a lesbian, and she never added any fuel to the rumor mill, but she still almost enjoyed those rumors about her, perhaps because they kept boys away, perhaps because they gave her attention, perhaps both.

"Yeah, you're probably right there," the boy was laughing. "Blossom's probably a lesbo too."

Blossom blinked. "Wow, that's new."

"Blossom and Buttercup have probably done it with each other," said the girl mischievously.

Buttercup's glee immediately vanished. "Alright, the stupidity has gone on far enough," she mumbled, pushing her way towards the "offenders".

"Say, pals," she said, in a mockingly cheerful tone of voice, "even though school's over until January doesn't mean you can turn off your brains until then."

"Aw, fuck you, dyke!" said the boy dismissively.

"You first," grinned Buttercup.

The boy and girl both snorted at Buttercup, but were either unable or unwilling to come up with a comeback, and so simply turned around and walked away.

Blossom grinned at Buttercup when she came back. "Gosh, Buttercup, it seemed to me that you were _enjoying _that conversation up until that point."

"Look, you know I don't care if everyone thinks I'm a lesbian," said Buttercup. "But incest? And besides, even if I let them call _me _homosexual, that doesn't mean I'll let them do that to _you!"_

Blossom shrugged. "I guess I could see why someone would think I'm a lesbian… I mean, I've never shown interest in guys before."

"You did once," reminded Bubbles softly.

Blossom glared at Bubbles.

"You can't pretend like you don't remember," said Buttercup, in an almost snippety manner.

Blossom trembled, but it seemed to be more of a tremble of fear than a tremble of rage. Without another word, she took to the skies, blazing her way back home.

Bubbles stared at Buttercup, feeling irritated at her cold statement. _Buttercup, sometimes you can be so tactless! _she thought to herself.

Buttercup took to the air as well, but somehow, strangely, Bubbles could hear Buttercup's voice in her head, as if she was answering her.

_I know._

…

Blossom sat by the Christmas tree, watching prisms of light reflect off of a glass pink ballerina ornament. It had been a Christmas gift from the Professor, back when the girls were seven years old. Blossom's was pink, Bubbles's was blue, Buttercup's was green.

Oh, how Blossom wished she could forget. Not only how she once felt—and thus, due to her memory, still felt—for Mojo, but also her feelings for the _other _boy. The one that Bubbles and Buttercup knew about. Chris.

It had been two years ago, in eighth grade. Blossom was thirteen years old. Chris was an eighth-grader too, but he was fourteen, and very mature and well-read for his age. He was also extremely intelligent, he had a slight mischievous streak that only added to his charm… and he was _very _cute. Very cute.

Blossom hadn't been the only girl in school with a crush on him. Bubbles, for one, had a slight crush on him—of course. So did about half the girls in school. But Blossom never had any intention of attempting to take her relationship with him to the next level—in fact, she was trying to deny to herself that she even felt anything for him at all.

Which is why she was shocked when, one day, Bubbles said to Blossom at lunch, "You know, Blossom, Chris really likes you."

Blossom nearly choked on her pea casserole. "You must be mistaken," she finally managed to say.

"No I'm not. He told me so." Surprisingly Bubbles didn't seem all that jealous that Blossom was the object of Chris's desire rather than herself.

"Well—I—I can't date him!" Blossom stuttered.

"Oh, sure you can!" laughed Bubbles. "He's going to talk to you! I told him that you feel the same way about him!"

"You WHAT?" cried Blossom.

"Well, I didn't say that until _after _he told me that he liked you!" giggled Bubbles. "What are you so worried about? You like him, he likes you! Perfect!"

"No—this can't—it doesn't _work _like that!" whispered Blossom, terrified.

"Why not?" asked Bubbles innocently. "Man, if he told me that _I'm _the girl he likes, I'd say yes to him in a second! Ooh, here he comes! Come on, Blossom! Talk to him!" Bubbles was now pulling Blossom up from her chair, for Chris was indeed approaching their table.

"Hi, Blossom," he said, rubbing his arm behind his back in a typical bashful manner. "Um… can we talk?"

Blossom gulped. "Uh… yeah, sure." She led Chris over to a relatively empty corner of the cafeteria for privacy, even though she knew that Bubbles would use her ultra-sonic hearing to eavesdrop. It seemed that Blossom rarely got much privacy.

But if there was any time in her life she would have wanted privacy, it was _now,_ if only for the reason that she felt as though she were about to blow chunks. Wasn't finding out that a guy liked you—especially a hot guy that you liked in return—supposed to make you feel _good? _She certainly wasn't feeling well at all. In fact, she wished he would just say, "Ha, it's a joke, you fell for it!" and leave.

_Don't think that, Blossom, _she thought to herself. _Give him a chance. Not everyone who treats you nice is out to get you._

_How do I know that for sure?_

_Let yourself trust him! Give him a chance! Don't screw up your chances with him because of what someone else did to you!_

"So, uh, Blossom, your sister told me that you… well… like me," began Chris.

"…a lot of girls like you," said Blossom uneasily.

"Yeah, but, well, you're not like other girls!" he said. "You're special! You're responsible and smart…"

He reached out and touched her hand.

Blossom flinched and shot her hand back. The gag reflex was so great, it was a wonder she hadn't hurled all over him right then and there. No, it was obvious, it was _so _obvious: her mind would never, ever let her accept someone reaching out to her. Never again. She knew what had happened last time, when she was five years old.

"No, Chris," she said, as gently and calmly as she could, although her voice was shaking. "I'm sorry. But this can't work out."

"Why not?" asked Chris, trying to hide his confusion and hurt at Blossom's words.

Blossom's stomach churned again. Oh, God. She was going to… well, if not break his heart, then certainly hurt him. And she knew full well what a broken heart was like. She had been living with one for eight years.

"A long time ago, I trusted someone, but that someone broke my trust," said Blossom, finding it harder and harder to keep a calm demeanor. "Now, I know you might say that I can trust you, and I would like to think that. But I can't, and I will _never _be able to trust you."

There was a pained, long silence.

"There's lots of intelligent and responsible girls in this school who like you, Chris, and most of them are far less messed up than me," said Blossom sadly. "You'll be far happier with her, whoever you might choose."

She turned and walked away, not wanting to hear his answer. She made no response to Bubbles, who had indeed been eavesdropping and stared at Blossom with a shocked, horrified expression.

Blossom went to the nurse's office the next period. Said she was sick. The nurse called the Professor at the university, where he taught, and told him that Blossom felt sick to her stomach and wanted to go home. Blossom insisted to him that he didn't need to leave work early to take care of her, that she'd be fine, and even flew away from school by herself.

But she did not go home. She flew to Alaska, welcoming the biting cold on her body, welcoming the pain it was bringing her. She stood on the peak of a mountain, staring over the ice-capped wilderness, cursing herself for not being able to forget. Cursing herself for throwing away a chance at happiness, although knowing full well that she could never be happy, even with him.

However, Blossom knew that her pain was only half her fault.

With no one but the wild animals to hear her rage, Blossom shrieked into the mountains what she had longed to cry out for years.

"_God damn you, Mojo Jojo! GOD DAMN YOU!"_

…

Blossom's eyes shut tightly as she sat underneath the Christmas tree, in a vain attempt to block out that particular memory.

Vain was right. Why, oh why would her brain not allow her to trust anyone, after just one experience? Just _one?_

Wait. It hadn't been just one.

Their first day of kindergarten, Blossom had trusted Ms. Keane. She had been kind, gentle, supportive, and had made every effort to include the three new girls into the activities. And Blossom, as any five-year-old would be, was filled with instant adoration. But that was _before _the girls had accidentally destroyed the town. Before everyone in the city had turned on them.

Blossom's memory of watching all those TV screens, each one shouting terrible things about the "bug-eyed freaks", was hitting her as clearly as it were happening at that very moment.

_Nobody loved her._

_Nobody at all._

It made perfect sense, then, that Blossom was unable to trust anyone anymore, unable to give anyone a second chance… because it would, in fact, be a third chance. Jojo had been her second chance. And she could never, ever get close to anyone again after what he did to her… because she had fallen so hard for him…

She remembered the complexity, the genius of his plans for the volcano-top observatory. Bubbles and Buttercup simply didn't understand what a plan Jojo had concocted! Blossom could hardly understand it herself, but she did know one thing—it was _genius. He _was a genius.

And he took such good care of the girls! He always had snacks for them while they—all four of them—were hard at work. He talked to them, asked them questions, treated them as individuals, each with individual personalities. And he spoke nothing but encouraging words to them.

It wasn't long at all before Blossom had fallen in love with him.

It was the kind of love that a five-year-old feels, innocent and pure, and all encompassing. Yet Blossom felt like much more than a five-year-old girl when he looked at her, spoke to her, praised her, called her intelligent.

She knew full well that it was wrong—she was only five, she shouldn't be feeling this way for _anyone, _much less a monkey—but she didn't care. It didn't matter what age she was, what species he was—he had shown her that people _could _care. That people _did _care about her and her sisters.

But then, just like everyone else, he broke her trust… and the rest, as they say, was history.

Blossom hated herself for being so emo about it. After all, it wasn't like she was the only person to have lived through the nightmares she had. Bubbles and Buttercup had too. But there was a clear difference with them—namely, Bubbles and Buttercup had the wonderful, wonderful ability to forget.

They had been talking about that particular episode on their last birthday, trying to recall the exact details. "It's hard to remember that far back," Buttercup had finally admitted. "What I do remember from that whole time was kind of vague."

"Yeah, it's like my mind blocked out everything from that sad point in my life," Bubbles had said.

"Wish my mind would do the same," Blossom had sighed.

Bubbles and Buttercup had pressed the matter, but Blossom refused to speak of it, as she usually did. And her sisters would let it go, figuring she had a good reason.

Blossom stared at her sad, old-looking reflection in the glass ballerina.

She wished she could forget too.

Damn, did she wish she could forget.

The door opened, and Blossom's head quickly spun around. It was the Professor. He smiled at Blossom.

"Well, Blossom, school's out until January, huh?"

Blossom returned the smile. "That's right."

"Try and hide your disappointment."

Blossom smiled again at the sarcasm. "It's not really school that I hate… I just hate the fact that there's nobody on earth who can teach me something I don't know."

"Now, Blossom, don't think that way." The Professor sat down next to Blossom and put his arm around her shoulders encouragingly. "The human race has only just begun to dip into all the knowledge the world has to offer. As of right now at least, there is no limit at all to what someone would theoretically learn. And if someone can't teach it to you, you can find out for yourself. I know you can. Your intelligence at times astounds me."

Blossom leaned over and gave the Professor a hug. "Thanks, Professor," she said. People praised her intelligence so often that she often grew sick of hearing it, but the Professor's words of encouragement had brightened her spirits. She _could _figure things out for herself.

The front door opened, and Bubbles and Buttercup floated in. Both Blossom and the Professor stood up.

"Hi, girls! How were your tests?"

Buttercup shrugged. "Well, they're over now, so who cares?"

Bubbles elbowed Buttercup. "Buttercup, remember what you said you'd do?"

"Yeah, yeah," sighed Buttercup. She hovered over to Blossom. "Blossom, I'm sorry for not being very considerate of your feelings…"

"That's okay," said Blossom. "I'm sorry for being such a depressed emo-kid all the time."

Buttercup smirked. "Yeah, you'd think that that would be _me."_

"Hey, girls," said Bubbles brightly, "why don't we jam out to some Christmas songs… so we'd all… feel better?"

"Oh yeah!" Buttercup said, grinning. "A jam session on my bass is just what I need after all those stupid tests!"

"That would really bring up my spirits as well," said Blossom. "Good idea, Bubbles!"

"Just don't play too loudly, girls," said the Professor. "I don't want you to go deaf!"

"Don't worry! We won't!" the girls all called in unison, shooting off to the corner of the lab where their instruments were.

…

Come Christmas morning, Blossom had not allowed herself to get her hopes up too much for her presents. She was accustomed to getting mostly clothes as gifts. Not that she minded clothes, but what she _really _wanted was a gift that could help her learn something that she didn't already know…

So when she picked up one of her presents from the Professor and shook it, and heard something that sounded distinctly like a book, she fought down the sudden surge of hope. The Professor meant well, but he would often buy Blossom a book that she had already read, which was, of course, pointless.

The Professor looked a bit anxious. "I'm pretty sure that you don't have any books like this one, Blossom…"

Blossom pulled off the wrapping paper and gasped at the book—Learn Danish.

"You don't speak Danish, do you?" asked the Professor nervously.

"No… I don't… Professor, where did you get this?" Blossom breathed.

"I ordered it online… do you like it?"

"I love it! Thank you so much, Professor!" Blossom leapt up and gave the Professor a hug, feeling the double-beat of her heart clearly.

"You're very welcome, Blossom!"

Blossom held on a little too long to the Professor, feeling her heart "murmur", and she felt a painful sorrow take hold of her. Her irregular heartbeat was a scary reminder that she, most likely, would not be alive much longer…

Dear Lord, this might be her last Christmas ever.

She finally let go, and the Professor seemed to brush off the prolonged hug, probably attributing it to her joy at getting a book that she actually hadn't read. Bubbles and Buttercup didn't take much notice to the sudden show of affection either, for they were now both tearing open presents of their own.

Blossom gulped and clutched her book tightly.

She was the leader, after all.

She shouldn't show emotion…

…especially not fear of death.


	3. The Breaking Point

The next week was an incredibly happy one for all three of the Powerpuff Girls. A light snowfall came to Townsville the day after Christmas—and the snow was hard, just perfect for making snowballs. The girls, temporarily ignoring the fact that they were fifteen years old, had a day-long snowball fight that day, taking a break from their Christmas presents—Buttercup's violent video game that she had already gotten to level eight on, Bubbles's scrapbooking materials, and Blossom's Danish book, which she was going through slowly, to savor the acquisition of new knowledge.

New Year's Eve came around, and as usual, the girls and the Professor went out to eat in a sports bar, watching the countdown to the new year on the television there and dancing to the party music being played.

And then, of course, the girls would have to make a quick sweep of the town before going home… there were a lot of crazies out on New Year's.

"We'll be home soon, Professor," assured Blossom as the Professor, wringing his hands in worry, climbed into his car by himself.

"And we'll be careful, too!" said Bubbles.

"And we won't party too hard," grinned Buttercup.

"Just get back soon, okay?" said the Professor, still worried. "I'll wait up for you…"

"We'll be as quick as possible," said Blossom. Giving a nod to her sisters, she took to the skies, her sisters following suit.

"I wonder what wackos we'll find tonight?" mused Buttercup. "Oh man, remember those guys who tried to pee on your shoes, Bubbles?"

"How could I forget?" shrieked Bubbles. "Those were my best shoes too…"

"But they _were _drunk," reminded Blossom. "Drunk guys are pretty easy to handle."

"It depends," said Buttercup cynically.

"Their inhibitions are lowered," said Blossom simply. "That's why the number one date rape drug is alcohol. You can get a drunk person to do just about anything… plus, their reflexes and senses are dulled."

"You don't need to quote your sex-ed textbook from sixth grade, Blossom," muttered Buttercup.

"Seventh grade, actually," said Blossom, not bothering to hide her smirk.

The girls' light-hearted argument was interrupted by a very, _very _loud crash, followed by irritatingly familiar laughter. Buttercup groaned upon hearing it. "Oh shit," she muttered. Any minute now, Bubbles would start acting twitchy and middle-school-crush-ish.

Blossom sighed. "Sounds like we've got to deal with our favorite super-powered testosterone-charged boys tonight. You know the drill… if it comes to fighting, fight our counterparts."

Bubbles and Buttercup nodded. The "fight your counterparts" rule was a silly one to Buttercup, but she knew why Blossom had to mention it every time they had to deal with the Rowdyruff Boys. If Bubbles was caught one-on-one with Brick, she would freeze up and be rendered totally helpless.

The girls landed forcefully in front of the boys, who had by that time kicked over a dozen trashcans and dumpsters, leaving garbage spread all over the sidewalks. The boys stared at the girls, then laughed rudely.

"Oh man! Look who's here to stop us!" laughed Brick. "Bloss, Bubs, and Butter!"

The girls made faces at each other. No one ever shortened their names, and Brick's usage of nicknames sounded utterly ridiculous.

"Our twins!" Brick continued. "That is, our twins who don't have a Y-chromosome!" He laughed again. Buttercup could smell alcohol on his breath, although he was still talking and acting fairly coherently.

"I'm surprised you even know what a Y-chromosome is," said Blossom fiercely.

"Besides, we've been around longer than you guys," snapped Buttercup. "You guys are just Powerpuff Girls with penises. That is, if you even _have _penises, which I doubt."

The boys all gasped in horror, then glared ferociously at Buttercup. Buttercup kept her sly grin. There was no better way to beat down a boy than to threaten his masculinity.

"Nice going, Buttercup," whispered Blossom tersely. "I was hoping to avoid an actual fistfight."

"That's it, you bitch!" Brick growled. "No one fucks with me like that!" In a flash of red, he flung himself at Buttercup—

—but Blossom had anticipated that move in a heartbeat. In an instant, she had moved between Buttercup and Brick and had given Brick a swift, stinging punch.

"You know what to do, girls!" she cried desperately as Boomer and Butch zoomed towards her, hell-bent on exacting revenge for her injury upon their brother.

BAM!

BAM!

Bubbles and Buttercup were ready. With well-aimed punches of their own, they sent their counterparts flying.

All three boys quickly climbed to their feet, eyes blazing.

_Now's when the fun begins, _thought Buttercup, grinning dangerously.

Blossom may have wanted to avoid a fistfight, but Buttercup had been hoping for one—hence her purposely pissing off the boys. It might be dangerous fighting with someone with the boys' powers, but Buttercup found it a pleasant challenge to pit her strength and powers against someone with the exact same abilities of her own. Fighting Butch certainly wasn't the same old, same old she had grown accustomed to when fighting your average, run-of-the-mill crooks.

Buttercup had also fought Butch enough times to know the most important thing to remember when fighting him—he was totally unpredictable. Well, she could be that way too!

Before Butch had a chance to even touch her, Buttercup had tackled him to the ground and was flinging punch after punch in his face. An instant later, Bubbles and Blossom were locked in their own fights with Boomer and Brick, respectively.

Buttercup's mind kicked into overdrive. Some other force was controlling all her actions. She hardly thought at all with every punch, every block, every kick. Even the pain wasn't registering to her.

Had she been paying better attention, she would have seen that her sisters weren't having it as easy.

Bubbles had quickly overpowered Boomer. She had long before learned the best way to defeat Boomer—distract him. So, with a cry of, "What's that? Over there!" Boomer had spun around to the direction in which his female counterpart was pointing. Bubbles then gave him a solid punch to his head, and he fell down to the pavement.

Blossom, however, was having a tougher time dealing with Brick. Brick might have been arrogant and even a bit foolish at times, but he certainly did have a head for planning… and figuring out his opponent's next move. Normally Blossom had the exact same ability to always be one step ahead, but tonight she was faltering, perhaps due to fatigue, perhaps due to something else. Brick flung a punch at Blossom, and Blossom failed to duck, getting hit square in the jaw. She stumbled back, and Brick, taking advantage of the situation, sent another punch straight to her gut and one to her left eye for good measure. Blossom crumpled to the ground.

"You next, blondie!" Brick taunted to Bubbles.

Bubbles froze.

He had hurt Blossom. Hurt her badly.

But he was still _so _good-looking…

_No! That doesn't matter! _Bubbles thought wildly to herself. _Just because he's cute doesn't mean he's nice! He hurt Blossom and he's going to hurt you too!_

Brick lunged at Bubbles, but Bubbles flung up her arms and grabbed Brick's arms in a deadlock. The two struggled against each other, their eyes glaring.

"You're pretty tough for such a cute little baby," said Brick, sounding genuinely impressed. "Your leader sister's not even this strong."

Bubbles's eyes grew wide. "What did you say…?"

For one brief moment, Brick smiled. Bubbles, mistaking the smile for one of genuine care, instinctively lowered her arms by about half an inch.

That was all Brick needed.

He tore his arms out of Bubbles's grip and gave her two swift punches, one to each eye. Bubbles toppled over.

Bubbles's pain seemed to jolt Buttercup out of her free-for-all with Butch. Enraged, she kicked Butch in the crotch dismissively and left him crumpled on the ground fighting back tears of pain. She glared at the boys' leader.

"You leave my sisters alone," she growled, her eyes twitching.

"What are you gonna—"

Brick's taunt was cut off by a sizzling eye-beam. A LONG sizzling eye beam. Buttercup held and held the eye beam as long as her eyes would let her, zapping the hell out of Brick. Finally, she let off, rubbing her eyes wearily.

"…shit!" a very burnt Brick managed to choke out. _"Now _you've asked for it! Boomer! Butch! Get your fucking asses off the ground and help me!"

"No way, man!" said Boomer, climbing shakily to his feet.

"_WHAT?" _Brick hollered.

"Dude, they _beat _us!" cried Boomer. "And now all I wanna do is lay down and try to ignore the pain! I'm not fighting them again!"

"Me neither, dude," muttered Butch, still looking incredibly pained from Buttercup's well-aimed kick. "I sure as hell ain't fighting _her _again, anyway. She's _nasty!" _

"Wusses," sneered Brick.

"What, you can't fight me yourself?" taunted Buttercup.

Brick went into spasms of pained rage, shouting out one-syllable utterances every second or so.

Finally he regained his composure. "I swear, Butter-bitch, next time I see you I will _thrash _you, do you hear?"

"Yeah, I hear, you don't have to yell," snapped Buttercup. "Fly back to your mommies, girls!"

"If we had fingers, you'd be seeing a certain one of mine right now," growled Brick. "Come one, bros!"

Once the Rowdyruff Boys were finally out of sight, Buttercup allowed herself to fall to the pavement in pain. It must have been the adrenaline of the fight, she thought to herself, that allowed her to not notice these pains that were now racking her entire body… at least, to not notice them until both Blossom and Bubbles were out of the running.

Speaking of Blossom and Bubbles…

Buttercup crawled over to her sisters and ran a hand on each of their foreheads. "Are you girls alright?" she asked hoarsely.

Bubbles managed to stand up, and then hover in the air. "Yeah, I think so," she said shakily.

Blossom's eyes creaked open, and she looked around her, completely dazed.

"Are you alright, Blossom?" Buttercup asked.

Blossom's eyes moved back and forth in temporary confusion for a few moments before locking on Buttercup's and narrowing fiercely. "I _would _be, if it hadn't been for you!" she snapped.

"What are you talking about?" cried Buttercup, her worry for her sister's well-being giving way to defensiveness. "I got rid of them!"

"If you hadn't suggested that they were castrated, we wouldn't have been fighting them in the _first _place!"

"When did I say they were castrated, huh? Tell me when I said that!"

"You know when! You implied that they don't have penises!"

"_Yes, _but I didn't say they were _castrated! _I was saying that they never had cocks to begin with!"

"God dammit, Buttercup! It doesn't matter what you _technically _meant! Because of your needless jab, Bubbles and I got the crap beaten out of us—and this _should _have been a simple confrontation!"

"How can you believe that load of bull you're feeding yourself?" Buttercup shrieked. "We weren't dealing with the 'Let's-Talk-About-Our-Feelings' bunch! We were dealing with the Rowdyruff Boys! All they ever _want _to do is fight! Trying to 'talk things through' would have just been a waste of time!"

"You don't know that for sure!" cried Blossom. "There's always the _chance _that we could have avoided that—but no, thanks to you, Bubbles and I have black eyes!"

"You can't blame _me _for your inability to fend him off!" cried Buttercup. "And you certainly can't blame me for what happened to Bubbles! She just got all _love-struck!"_

"I—" Bubbles began.

"It's not like Bubbles can help what she feels," growled Blossom.

"Her feelings shouldn't even be a factor when she fights!" snapped Buttercup.

"I can't help it!" wailed Bubbles.

"You think that she _chose _to…" Blossom's voice trailed off.

"Of course I don't think she _chose _to get a crush on a bad guy!" yelled Buttercup. "Who the hell would? What I want to know is, Bubbles, why can't you _get the fuck over him already?"_

"I'm trying!" wailed Bubbles.

"You're not trying hard enough!" snapped Buttercup. "When I had a stupid, silly crush on a bad guy, I got over it in an instant when I found out he was using me! Yours is even more pronounced—he _beat the crap out of you!_ What's so hard about getting over someone like that?"

"It's not that easy!" said Bubbles, her voice faltering.

"You have to louse things up by freezing because you can't give your cute little asshole of a crush a good solid punch in the teeth like he needs—"

"_**SHUT UP!"**_

Buttercup and Bubbles both spun around and stared at Blossom, who was glaring back at them with an exasperated, helpless look.

"Leave Bubbles alone, Buttercup! You don't have a _clue _what it's like!"

"Hell-_o_? I know _exactly _what it's like! I had that stupid crush when I was five years old—"

"Yes—you were _five! _You're not five anymore! Neither is Bubbles! And I… I've never really been five," she whispered bitterly.

Buttercup began to twitch with fury, just as Brick had a few minutes earlier. "I… I… I cannot fucking _stand _you, Blossom!" she finally roared. "You think you _always _have to know _everything_ and know _exactly _what's going on! You have to be Miss Perfect and act like you're better than us! I'm the one who should be saying to you that you don't have a clue what it's like! I know way more about what Bubbles is going through than you do!"

"I know more than you give me credit for!" cried Blossom.

"Oh God, what, your Chris episode suddenly makes you the expert on harboring feelings for bad guys? Come on! The Amoeba Boys are more evil than he is, and _you _turned _him _down, you fucking moron!"

"_Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up!" _screamed Blossom, howling in rage and…

…grief?

Buttercup _did _shut up, hearing clearly the change in Blossom's voice from full-blown anger to desperate, piteous despair.

"Blossom…?" Bubbles asked, gently, tentatively.

"You two have _no clue_ what I've had to live with my entire life!" cried Blossom, her voice shaking, her eyes huge, her body trembling, the most emotional her sisters had _ever _seen her become. "You have _no clue _what I've gone through… what I go through every day! You have _no clue _what's going to happen to me!"

"What do you mean?" demanded Buttercup. "What's going to happen to you? Blossom? Blossom!"

For Blossom had taken to the sky, and was long gone.

…

Seconds later, Blossom was huddled in the darkest corner of her closet, shaking uncontrollably.

Buttercup's ranting about freezing up and letting emotions muddle your fighting was justified… but little did she realize that it had happened to Blossom too… most noticeably that time when they were six years old, when she suddenly became a jinx.

The girls had never questioned why she had suddenly lost her ability to think straight. Had Blossom told them the truth… but she hadn't. All these years she had hidden her feelings as best she could. That time was no exception.

Mojo's robots that were destroying Townsville were amazing accomplishments. They fired at movement—and accurately hit their targets, despite the speed at which the target was moving! Which was why, when Buttercup demanded a plan from Blossom, Blossom had been unable to answer at first. She was _amazed _at what Mojo could do. And in her amazement, she had messed up.

She had been even _more_ amazed when he had her family in his clutches, rendering them helpless by the apparatus. Angered too, of course. She was _always _enraged by how he used his mental powers, but still she was always amazed.

It had been a wonder that she had come up with the solution at all.

She had nearly been too late, although the solution was a simple one.

Mojo had completely overpowered her, although he likely didn't even know how he was doing it.

She ran her hands through her hair, yanking hard at a tangle. Her mind was made up already, but still her dying rationality was making a last, fruitless struggle to win out.

_For God's sake, Blossom, don't give in. You've always fought this. You've always been strong.  
_

_But I can't keep this up anymore, _Blossom thought desperately to herself. _I totally lost it in front of Bubbles and Buttercup. I've turned into an utter wreck… even more so than I already was. I'm not helping anyone by staying where I am._

_That's no excuse to run off._

_But he's the only person on Earth who can help me. Who can teach me. Who can understand me._

_Blossom, listen to yourself! He's your ENEMY! He's a freaking MONKEY! He's EVIL!_

_I don't care anymore! Besides, we're both going to die soon, and I'm NOT dying like this! _

Blossom stood up, pulling out a suitcase and throwing clothes in it haphazardly. Her rationale was still arguing, but the rest of Blossom's mind had put up a wall, blocking it from her mind entirely. _She didn't care anymore._

With her belongings packed and a quick note left on Buttercup's bed, Blossom slowly and quietly flew out of her house, as to not leave a streak of pink behind her.

…

Bubbles and Buttercup flew back home in silence.

The blonde Powerpuff kept her eyes diverted, trying to not let Buttercup know how much she had hurt her. She wished, more than anything, that she could block out her emotions like Buttercup could… but she just couldn't. It wasn't even with Brick—she had always had trouble beating up anyone, no matter how evil they were. She didn't see a criminal, like Blossom and Buttercup saw. She saw a living creature.

Then again… maybe Blossom saw something else too, considering the way she had just reacted. And considering what she had said to Bubbles earlier, about boy troubles…

Bubbles bit her lip, trying to keep from crying. Blossom was always so sad, and Bubbles didn't know why. She wanted to help her sister… but how can you help someone when you don't know what exactly is wrong with them?

The girls landed at the front door of their house.

"Yes, I'm going to apologize!" Buttercup snapped at Bubbles before Bubbles had a chance to say a word.

"To who? Me or Blossom?" asked Bubbles.

"Blossom, duh," said Buttercup.

"You hurt my feelings too," whispered Bubbles.

"Don't be a crybaby," muttered Buttercup. "I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, Bubbles. There. Now let me find Blossom and apologize to her!"

Bubbles gulped and nodded as Buttercup opened the door. The lack of conviction in that apology was, to say the least, less than satisfying, but Bubbles figured she'd take what she could get at this moment in time.

The Professor was sitting anxiously in a chair in the living room. "Hi girls, you're back! How was it… and where's Blossom?"

Buttercup blinked. "What, she's not here already?"

"Maybe she went to go fly around… think things over…?" Bubbles offered, hesitatingly.

"Maybe," said Buttercup.

"What happened to her?" asked the Professor, concern etched on his face.

"I have no idea," sighed Buttercup. "She just totally flipped on us after a routine fight with the Rowdyruff Boys."

"I'm going to see if she's upstairs," said Bubbles, floating up the stairs and into the girls' bedroom. She flipped on the lights—no Blossom.

"Blossom?" she called out to an empty room.

There was no answer. The room was just as it always was—

—except for the note on Buttercup's bed?

Bubbles zipped over to the bed and picked up the piece of paper.

_Professor, Bubbles, and Buttercup—_

_I don't know how to put this, so I guess I'll start at the beginning—I'm sorry I've deceived you all these years, and I'm sorry that I still am. I've realized that I can't stay with you anymore, but I can't tell you why. Trust me, you don't WANT to know why. Bubbles and Buttercup, you know how I flipped out on you just now. I'm sure that showed you—as clearly as it showed me—that I am simply in no state to be protecting the city anymore—protecting the city from myself and everything that I am, that part of me that I have never let you see._

_Please, don't go looking for me. I won't tell you where I am, because you'll be far better off not knowing, but trust me when I say that I am safe and, hopefully, content, or at least more content than I have been. All I'll say is that I'm with the only person on Earth who could ever understand me and what I'm going through, and you wouldn't believe who it is even if I told you._

_Don't give up on crime fighting, Bubbles and Buttercup. The city needs you and your abilities, and I know how capable you both are. I love you both very much. I love you too, Professor. I'm grateful to have had such a wonderful family._

_All I ask of you is to forget the bad things about me and remember the good. You all have the wonderful ability to forget—and how I wish I had that ability, for if I did I might still be with you right now. _

_Love,_

_Blossom_

Bubbles stared at the letter, her mouth agape, for approximately seven seconds.

And then—

"_PROFESSOR! BUTTERCUP!"_

…

Blossom clung tightly to her suitcase as she flew through the cold night air, shivering slightly to herself. Perhaps it was the cold, or perhaps it was nervousness… most likely both.

In no time at all she could see Mojo's volcano-top observatory—the place she and her sisters had helped him build ten years ago. She stopped, still about fifty-some feet from the observatory, her stomach in knots, as she pondered just how she was going to approach Mojo's place and tell her why she was there… oh God, this was too hard…

"Do you plan on hovering up there all night, or will you finally come in the open door that I have opened for you?"

Blossom yelped in shock—for there was Mojo Jojo himself, standing in front of his open door. Blossom's throat dried up as she stared at Mojo in confusion. She hadn't heard him come out and open the door—

"Of course you didn't hear me," growled Mojo. "I have been here as soon as you decided to run away."

"But—but how did you _know?" _Blossom cried. "Did you—have you been spying on me?"

"Maybe, instead of shouting at each other outside in the open, you can come inside following your original reason for coming here so I can explain?" Mojo suggested. He smiled at Blossom, that evilish smirk of his that always scrambled Blossom's confused and wounded heart even more so than usual.

"But—" Blossom began.

"I know exactly why you have come," interrupted Mojo, "and thus I know that you want to come in with me anyway, so please, save us both the time and just come in—and yes, I _will _explain exactly how I know all of your thoughts!"

Blossom gasped. He had answered her question before she had spoken it—even before she had quite formed it into words in her own mind.

She hesitated for one fleeting second, but then floated down to Mojo's level. Mojo smiled that smirk of his again.

"Now that's better," he said. His voice sent even more chills down Blossom's spine.

"Now tell me," growled Blossom, "how did you know I was coming?"

"Come in and sit down, and I will tell you," said Mojo, gesturing inside.

Blossom hovered inside and Mojo carefully shut the door behind them. Giving a quick glare at Mojo purely out of habit, she made her way to the couch situated in the atrium of the observatory. The dwelling was just as Blossom had remembered it—high, imposing ceilings; cold tiles for the floor and walls; a dark color scheme; but upon sitting down Blossom was pleased to discover that the couch was surprisingly comfortable.

Mojo sat in a chair opposite and quite a ways away from her, folding his hands in a thoughtful manner. Blossom gulped. She remembered, of course, from their latest meeting that Mojo, despite looking much older and very much worse for wear, he had seemed to grow even more menacing, if that was at all possible… and his complete calmness at Blossom's sudden arrival, along with his apparent ability to read her mind, was frightening Blossom so much that she could barely stand to look at him.

"Oh, don't feel that way, Blossom," said Mojo, almost gently. "I _told _you I would explain everything—but seeing as you are fatigued, tired, exhausted, sleepy, and just plain pooped, would you rather wait until tomorrow after you've had a good night's rest?"

"I won't be able to rest until you tell me exactly what's going on here," snapped Blossom, rubbing her blackened eye.

Mojo looked directly at Blossom's black eye. "I can get you something for that."

"I'm fine."

"Trust me, Blossom, thanks to you and your accursed sisters I know how to treat black eyes."

"Yes… I suppose you would," admitted Blossom.

"Brick could have been an intelligent criminal, you know," mused Mojo, sounding a tad disappointed. "When I first created him, he had an ample amount of intelligence—obviously not to the phenomenal level of yours or mine, but still he had a lot of potential… until Him recreated the boys and totally obliterated everything about them that made them mine."

"Including their weakness," reminded Blossom harshly.

"Who cares about that?" cried Mojo. "The point is that the boys are wasting their pathetic lives! They could be the most evil villains this city has ever known—apart from me, of course. They've already got the physical abilities—for that is quite the shiner Brick gave you!"

"I've got the exact same phys—wait a minute," said Blossom. "How did you know it was _Brick _who did this to me? Just how long have you been reading my mind, anyway?"

"You remember," said Mojo, slowly and precisely, "of course, that time I nearly killed you?"

"Of course I remember," said Blossom, spinning her head around to avoid letting him see her eyes. "I would remember that even if I _didn't _have perfect memory!"

She growled with anger as that whole horrible, horrible moment in her life came flooding back to her, her crystal-clear memory of the event triggered back to life by Mojo's comment…

…

"They're everywhere! Freaking everywhere! What do we do, Blossom?"

Blossom didn't answer Buttercup's question right away—she was more focused on trying to figure out just _what _the eight-year-olds were up against. At first glance, it simply looked as if the city was being overrun by millions of insects—Roach Coach was back again? But their perfect formations, along with the jerky movement of their legs, had fairly well convinced Blossom that they were dealing with tiny robot-insects.

"What we need to do is find out who's behind this," Blossom finally said. "Split up! Buttercup, you go north. Bubbles, go east. I'll go west. Whoever finds whoever it is behind this, call the others!"

"What about south?" asked Bubbles.

"And why do I have to go north?" demanded Buttercup.

"There's only three of us, Bubbles, and we're in the southern part of the city, so going south wouldn't cover as much ground as going the other directions. And Buttercup… why does it matter which way you go?" Blossom finally said.

"Because north will take me straight to the center of town, which is most likely where the mystery mastermind is!"

Blossom gulped—she had been thinking precisely the same thing, which was why she was so keen on having anyone other than her go north. For if it was truly Mojo Jojo behind this plan, as she suspected… she knew she couldn't face him by herself.

"It doesn't matter," Blossom finally shouted. "Just go! And whoever finds whoever's in charge of this, let the others know! Now GO!"

Bubbles and Buttercup zipped off in their assigned directions, knowing better than to argue with Blossom. Blossom watched them fly off, then went in her westerly direction, zapping as many insect robots as she could. All the while, her sharp mind was running through every possibility of what Mojo—it had to be Mojo—was planning with all these insects. Some sort of hostile takeover with bugs running up everyone's pants? Were the bugs carrying some sort of device to their master—who may or may not be Mojo—to help him take over the world? Were—

"Now _go, _my insect army, for with your help I shall rule Townsville, and then the world!"

Blossom stopped dead in her tracks at the sight in front of her—it was indeed Mojo Jojo who was sending off the insects on their diabolical scamperings, so taken by the current success of his evil plan that he didn't even notice Blossom.

She had to stop herself from screaming—screaming what would most likely would have been a profanity. Well, didn't it just figure. She took an out-of-the way direction to avoid facing him alone, and yet he was there anyway. Damn fate.

"And with you helping me to—"

"Not so fast, Mojo Jojo!"

Mojo spun around to Blossom, enraged. "Curses! The Powerpuff Girls—oh, my mistake. Just one Powerpuff Girl." He smirked. "Do you honestly think that you can beat me by yourself?"

There were a lot of things Blossom could have said to Mojo at that point. She could have said "my sisters can come faster than you can say 'monkey punch'". Or perhaps "I can beat a pompous egotistical simpleton like you with one hand tied behind my back", had she been feeling exceptionally daring.

But nothing like that came out of Blossom's mouth.

"Mojo, why the _bugs?"_

The question hadn't been asked in a snarky, hero-fighting-villains type of way. It had been asked… well, in the way one would expect a normal, confused eight-year-old to ask a question to a teacher or parent.

Mojo laughed rudely. "Do you expect me to divulge to you my entire evil plan?"

"Why would you stop now?" snapped Blossom. "That's what you _always _do."

"Hmm… you're right," said Mojo thoughtfully. "I wonder why?"

"Because _all _egotistical villains explain their plans for no apparent reason to their antagonists! And you've never been an exception!"

Mojo stuttered, clearly riled by Blossom's remark. "Well… I will be an exception now! Although it _does _seem a shame to hide my plans from you, as your intelligence is absolutely _astounding_, making you probably the only person on Earth who would appreciate how ingenious my plan is—besides me, of course!"

"S—stop building up your ego, Mojo!" Blossom spat out with difficulty. _Keep your cool, keep your cool, _she mentally berated herself… although Mojo complimenting her intelligence was making her insides turn to jelly.

"Yes, I suppose it is pointless, redundant, unnecessary, and all-around ridiculous to stand here and tell you how remarkable my plans are," said Mojo with a shrug. He pulled out the biggest laser gun Blossom had ever seen. "Seeing as I am going to kill you."

BAM!

Blossom socked Mojo in the gut and pinned him down to the ground. "Not likely," she said, happy to discover that her typical leader voice was now back in force… although her stomach still felt pained and queasy.

Mojo noticed the return of Blossom's confidence as well, for he looked visibly nervous, but apparently wasn't finished taunting her yet. "It's a shame that you have a moral code… for with our combined intelligences, Blossom, you and I could easily overpower the world."

"You're forgetting that I've still got an advantage over you," said Blossom. "My strength." She leaned further down on Mojo to accentuate her remark, applying as much pressure as she could on his shoulders. Their faces were so close to each other that Blossom could smell Mojo's breath—and to her surprise, it actually smelled good.

Mojo smiled. "And you're forgetting that, while I do not have the powers that you do, I am strong as well," he said quietly, his lips nearly touching hers.

Blossom trembled from the pounding of her heart. Without realizing it, she slacked her arms and closed her eyes.

It would prove to be a near-fatal mistake.

With sudden, ferocious intensity, Mojo flipped Blossom over and flung a fist at her stomach. Then her eye. Then her other eye. Then her jaw. Then her stomach again. Then her face again.

And Blossom, too shocked, too confused, to hurt—emotionally as well as physically—to react, could only lie there and take it.

He finally stopped, but he was still pinning Blossom to the ground, his fingers piercing her skin. "I really don't want to kill you," he said roughly, as Blossom gazed helplessly and wonderingly at him through her bruised, squinted eyes, "but seeing as you're against me, I have no choice."

He held his laser gun at her face and fired.

…

"I was in the hospital for five weeks," snapped Blossom, glaring at Mojo. "The doctors told me that for the longest time they thought I wasn't going to make it. Of _course _I remember that!"

"But did your sisters ever tell you what happened when they found me?" Mojo demanded.

"Yes," said Blossom, anger giving way to confusion and thoughtfulness. "They told me that they had no trouble at all beating you up, because you were dazed and nearly unconscious. So what happened, then? Did I somehow beat you up after you knocked me out—do I actually have amnesia and not remember what I did when—"

"No!" Mojo interrupted. "You did absolutely _nothing _to me! When I fired that laser you were knocked out, you lost consciousness, you went into a coma, you were near death, just as you should have been!" He leapt out of the chair and rounded on Blossom, his eyes blazing with fury. "But in my attempt to kill you, something happened to _me! _When I fired that laser at you I could feel the impact as if I were firing it at _myself! _The pain of it was too great for me to be able to put up even a decent chance against your sisters!"

Blossom gulped from her position on the couch—which was by now shrunk back in the corner due to Mojo's roars. "You… felt my pain?"

"Felt it? It was more than that! I _experienced _it as if it were happening to me!" He began pacing up and down in front of Blossom, occasionally glaring at her during his next long tirade. "Once I was out of jail and able enough to stand on my own without falling over, I went through every explanation I could think of. Eventually I decided that you must have hurt me more than I thought when you initially pinned me to the ground, and so, taking that one incident as something of a freak accident, I tried again to destroy you and your sisters—and I made special efforts to get _you_first, just to prove to myself that it _was _a coincidence!"

Blossom replayed her next confrontation with Mojo through her mind. "Yeah, you _did _seem more intent on killing me than killing Bubbles or Buttercup… You actually threw a laser gun at my _head _and nearly gave me a concussion—"

"And I nearly gave _myself _a concussion as well!" cried Mojo.

"Then…" Blossom began.

"Yes," growled Mojo. "I found myself feeling every little pain that you did. In fact, I believe I had noticed it before, but I didn't realize it was _your _pain I was experiencing… I just assumed that I was experiencing lingering pains of my fights with you."

"I've felt those too," said Blossom. "It's entirely possible—"

"Those were often likely my _own _pains you felt!" Mojo interrupted. "I know that you've figured it out, you're just too scared to admit it! We have a very real connection!"

"That can't—"

"It IS true!" cried Mojo. "For soon, I found myself having thoughts that were unlike my own—_your _thoughts!"

"That's impossible!" snapped Blossom. "Telepathy doesn't exist! Especially not between you and me!"

"It most certainly does," growled Mojo. "For the past six years now I have known your every thought!"

Blossom glared at Mojo. "I don't believe you," she hissed.

"Despite all the evidence you have that I am correct?" Mojo sighed impatiently. "Alright, fine. You think of something, something random, something so strange and unusual that the chances of me randomly and unusually thinking the same random, unusual thing would be practically zero, and I will tell you what it is!"

"Alright, fine," snapped Blossom. She thought for a moment, before her mind suddenly produced a picture of cupcakes.

Mojo snorted. "Cupcakes? Come on, you can do better than that."

Blossom gasped. "How… how…"

"You foolish girl! You _still _do not believe me! Well, that's not really true… for you realize that what I have told you is true, but you don't _want _to believe it." He snorted again, although this time it was accompanied by a half-smile. "You are so stubborn."

Blossom squinted her eyes shut and pressed her hands against her head in irritation. _Smarty pants, _she thought, _how about this? Purple… chainsaws… in Switzerland…_

"Ah, _now _you're getting creative!" said Mojo. "Purple chainsaws in Switzerland. Quite amusing."

"_**STOP READING MY MIND!"**_ Blossom shrieked.

Mojo stopped his pacing abruptly and shot an icy glare at Blossom. "You think I'm enjoying this?" he growled, his voice low and threatening. "Do you actually think that I would purposely do this to myself?"

"To yourself?" cried Blossom. "What about what you're doing to _me?"_

"Stop thinking of only yourself—and remember that I _do _know exactly all the things that you've gone through!" Mojo jumped back on the couch again, right in Blossom's face. "If you would only think about what this means for me—every terrible thing that you've lived through, every contradictory thought that has ever run through your brilliant little mind—and I cannot _stop _'reading your mind', for it is much more than simply _reading _your mind! All your thoughts are my thoughts! All your pains are my pains! Whatever happens to you happens to me as well!" He was now so riled up that his words were coming out rapid-fire. "My only chance to rule the world was then to destroy your sisters and have you join my side, but you would always be there in the way, protecting them! For you see, I cannot rule the world without destroying your sisters, and I cannot destroy your sisters without destroying you, and I cannot destroy you without destroying myself—_**and what is the point of ruling the world when you are destroyed?"**_

Blossom gulped in fear, at a complete loss for words.

"Didn't you ever wonder—well, of course you did, your mind is my mind so thus I know for a fact that you did—why I so suddenly, abruptly, unexpectedly, and without warning stopped trying to take over the world?" Mojo asked, only slightly more composed. "Oh yes, Blossom, just like you are now, I denied the truth to myself as long as I could, but I was finally forced to accept that if I killed you, I would kill myself as well. Your mind is now nearly indistinguishable from my own—although it in a way always was—"

"Wait a minute!" cried Blossom. "You said for six years you've known my every thought? My… _every _thought?"

"Yes, your every thought," growled Mojo.

Blossom's jaw hung open in silence.

"Yes, including your highly conflicting feelings for me," said Mojo.

There was another pained silence.

"How… how _dare _you?" Blossom suddenly shrieked. "How _dare _you invade my privacy—you—you _bastard!"_

"I'm not doing this by _choice!" _Mojo yelled, looking just as angry as Blossom did. "As I said earlier, do you honestly think I would purposely, knowingly, and deliberately do this to myself on purpose? Thanks to my connection with you, Blossom, I have had to give up my life's dream! What do I have to live for, since you and your sisters make it impossible for me to take over the world without having to kill you in the process? All I can do now is sit around and feel your pathetic teen angst! _**Why don't you get out of my head?"**_

Mojo grabbed his arms around Blossom's neck. Blossom kicked Mojo forcefully, causing him to drop her. Mojo rounded on Blossom, grabbing a lamp and flinging it towards her, rage controlling his every action. Blossom ducked, socked Mojo in the gut, and held him pinned to the ground…

…with the strangest sensation in her stomach.

Mojo still looked crazed with fury, but he actually cracked a smile. "It feels as though you've been punched in the gut, doesn't it, Blossom? See, already you are beginning to understand our connection. It will not be long until my mind will be inside yours as well… then we can truly be the same individual, as we were supposed to be."

"Never," whispered Blossom, her eyes glazing over.

Mojo, too, looked completely exhausted. "Why don't you go to bed, and we'll talk more about this tomorrow?"

"What… what do you really want from me?" Blossom asked, the last part of her question turning into a yawn.

"Does that matter?" Mojo asked. "I am not holding you here. _You _came to _me, _by your own free will. What matters is what _you _want. And I know fully well what that is. You want answers. You want knowledge. And I shall give you all the answers and knowledge you could ever desire tomorrow, but right now both of us are too fatigued and exhausted to continue with this. Especially considering how much of this first evening together we have spent yelling at each other."

"Fine," whispered Blossom. Fine, damn it, fine, she was through arguing with someone who knew what she was going to say before she had a chance to say it. She was through fighting someone who was so powerful, so horribly evil, so terribly arrogant, and so frustratingly wondrous that she could hardly look at him without having both her mind and body freeze up.

She wanted _sleep._

"And you shall get sleep," Mojo said.

He gently pushed Blossom off of him with ease, and Blossom let herself sink onto the ground without a fight. Mojo stood up and held out his hand. "Unless if you want to sleep on the floor, which I highly doubt, I do have a guest bedroom."

Blossom took Mojo's hand and stood up, following him to his guest room. Through her sleepiness, however, she couldn't help but wonder why on Earth Mojo would have a guest bedroom. He couldn't possibly get many—if any—visitors.

"No, but I _do _like to be prepared, and plus, it's a standard household feature."

Blossom sighed. "Tomorrow, will you let me talk?" she mumbled as soon as she thought the words, so that Mojo wouldn't cut her off.

"Certainly," said Mojo. He opened a door and revealed a small room—somewhat dark, but clean looking enough, with a twin-sized bed and a nightstand in it. He pulled the covers back, and a grateful Blossom sank down onto the bed—which was, like the couch in the atrium, surprisingly soft.

"Sweet dreams, my dear," said Mojo, smiling almost mockingly at his Powerpuff adversary.

"I hope they are," said Blossom levelly, fixing a sleepy but stern gaze upon Mojo. _Now leave me alone and let me sleep._

Mojo said nothing to this. He simply continued to smile at Blossom, turned around, and left the room, shutting off the lights behind him.


	4. Hide and Seek

"No, Professor Utonium, we haven't found her yet. But we're still looking."

It was nine AM that morning, and nobody in the Utonium household had gotten a wink of sleep that night. Police had been called, missing person reports had been filled, and searches around town had been conducted, but it had been more than eight hours and there were no clues as to where Blossom was…

…except her note.

"Let us look!" cried Buttercup, for about the fiftieth time.

The police chief sighed. "Miss Utonium, your skills as a crimefighter are admirable, but this is detective work, and legal business."

"It's _crimefighting!" _Buttercup shouted. "Someone kidnapped Blossom, you dimwads!"

"The note makes it sound like she left on her own free will," said the police chief.

"It's a fake!"

"The note is in Blossom's handwriting, both according to our handwriting examinations and by your father's and sister's analysis."

"Why does it even _matter?" _Buttercup screeched, clearly having reached the end of her rope hours ago. "What matters is that she's _gone! _Someone might have kidnapped her and _forced_ her to write that note!"

"Why would someone kidnap her and leave no demands for ransom?" asked the police chief with a sigh. "Look, we'll be sending out officers to search the homes of your notable villainous foes… but what it looks like to me is that she's gone off somewhere, probably not even in Townsville."

"You're making it sound like you're going to give up!" cried Buttercup.

"We'll do everything we can," shrugged the police chief.

Bubbles watched the whole scene unfold from her spot on the couch, huddled up and pressing her knees tightly against her chest. She had spoken only when a question was asked of her—and even then, her answer would be short, mumbled, and incoherent.

All she could think was that this was all her fault.

If she had only taken the time to find out just _why _Blossom was so sad, she could have helped. She could have prevented this before it was too late. The reason that she hadn't done so was because she was afraid of hurting Blossom's feelings or making her angry—but at least, if Bubbles had helped her, then Blossom would be here, safe and where she belonged!

But no, Bubbles had done nothing. And now Blossom was gone.

"Come on, Bubbles."

Buttercup, apparently giving up trying to reason with the police officers, was now standing above Bubbles. She looked stern and upset, but not so much upset with Bubbles as she was with the whole situation in general. "I don't care what the officers say. We're going to go find Blossom ourselves."

"But—" whimpered Bubbles.

"Do you want to find her or _not?" _hissed Buttercup, only barely remembering to keep her voice lowered.

"Yes…"

"Well then, come on!"

Buttercup yanked Bubbles off of the couch and silently led her outside—once there, the two remaining Powerpuff Girls took to the air.

"Where are we going?" Bubbles asked fearfully, noticing that Buttercup was flying with the most steadfast direction and certainty she had ever had.

"You know what the note said. And you know what made her blow up at us like that. Don't you get it, Bubbles? She _does _have a crush on a bad guy, and she's been hiding it all along!"

"What do you mean?"

"Chris has been a bad guy this entire time—and Blossom never told us!"

"That doesn't make sense," said Bubbles. "Blossom's always so morally upright... she would have told if she knew that a supposedly good guy was bad!"

"Not if she was blinded by love."

"But—"

"You know I'm right! _I _know I'm right! And I'm going to go over to his house and find her and bring her back!"

Although they were still flying, Bubbles shrunk back a bit from her sister. When she was in a state like this, arguing with Buttercup was suicide, no matter how much logic one put into the argument.

The girls landed at the "offending" house, and Buttercup wasted no time in pounding on the door.

"Buttercup!" hissed Bubbles.

"_What?" _snapped Buttercup.

"Don't be too rough," said Bubbles meekly.

"I'm not going to be rough with him—I'm going to be rough with Blossom for giving us such a scare!" cried Buttercup, staring intently at the door. Bubbles looked down at the ground sadly. Buttercup never kept eye contact when she wasn't sure of what she was saying and doing.

The door finally opened. A confused Chris blinked at the sight of two of the Powerpuff Girls. "Uh, hi, Bubbles and Buttercup. Happy New Year…?"

"Cut the small talk," said Buttercup sharply. "We're here for our sister."

"Your sister?" said Chris, still confused. "I haven't seen her since the last day of school."

"Don't play dumb!" cried Buttercup. "I know she's here, and I'm gonna tear this house apart until I find her!"

"Don't, Buttercup!" Bubbles cried out.

Buttercup spun around and glared at Bubbles. "Why not?"

"He's telling the truth, can't you see?" said Bubbles, looking as if she was on the verge of tears. "Blossom's not here."

"But… but…" Buttercup seemed to be treading a fine line between rage and helplessness. "But where _else _could she be? She's _got _to be here! You read her note!"

Bubbles sighed. "Would you give Buttercup permission to search your house with her X-ray vision?" she said, addressing Chris.

"Hell, I ain't gonna wait for his _permission!" _cried Buttercup, before Chris had a chance to even open his mouth. Within moments, her eyes glowed and she zipped up to the top of the house to conduct a proper search.

"I'm sorry about her," whispered Bubbles to Chris. "Blossom's gone missing, and we don't know where, and we usually ask permission before using our X-ray vision to search someone's house… and I only said Buttercup should do that to prove to her that Blossom's not here."

"Oh," said Chris, still slightly dumbfounded.

It was only a few minutes more when Buttercup landed back at the front door, looking as if she had fallen into the helpless side of the line she had been walking. "I don't… I don't understand it…"

"Thanks, Chris," said Bubbles gently. "And I'm sorry we bothered you."

"It was no bother at all," said Chris. "Good luck in finding her… I hate to think of what might be happening to her right now," he said sincerely.

"Me too," whispered Bubbles. She took Buttercup's hand and led her up to the sky.

"Let's go home, Buttercup," she said to her sister. "We should let the police take care of this now…"

"No—it's the Rowdyruff Boys! Why didn't I see it before? Blossom has a crush on Brick, that's what it is!"

Bubbles sighed. "Buttercup, not again—!"

"Last night, she got distracted by Brick and that's why he beat her—just like he beat you! It's so obvious!"

"Buttercup—"

"Don't you _dare _get territorial on him, Bubbles! More than one person can have a crush on the same guy!"

"But _Buttercup! _Blossom told me that she doesn't like any of the Rowdyruff Boys!"

"She was lying, duh!"

"Blossom never lies!"

"She's obviously been lying about something this whole time—or at least she's been keeping something hidden! It would have to take something really big to make her run off like that! Come on, you _know _I'm right!"

Bubbles's patience with Buttercup was finally wearing thin. "Oh yeah, you're totally right—just as right as you were about Chris!"

That was the breaking point for Buttercup as well.

She turned on Bubbles with lightning speed and grabbed her by the shirt collar, screaming in her face. _"Do you want to find her or not? DO YOU?"_

Bubbles burst into tears. "Stop it, Buttercup! Stop it!" she wailed.

"She's with _them!"_

"No, she's not! Trust me!" cried Bubbles, still sobbing.

"Can't we at least go _look?"_

"No—Brick said he'd hurt you next time—there's only two of us and three of them—"

Buttercup screamed, having finally, completely lost it.

"_**WHERE COULD SHE BE?"**_

Bubbles was unable to answer, her cries wracking her entire body.

"Dammit, Bubbles!" cried Buttercup, a few stray tears lining her cheeks as well. "Where… how… how could she _do _this to us?"

"She said she was safe… in her note…" Bubbles managed to choke out.

"She was probably lying then too! Bubbles—"

The weeping sisters flung their arms around each other's shoulders, unable to fight any longer.

…

When Blossom awoke that morning, she had no idea of what time it was until looking at the digital clock on the nightstand—9:47 AM.

"Wish this room had a window," she mumbled to herself, rubbing her eyes open. The sunlight should have woken her long before now, regardless of what a tiring night she had weathered.

_Okay, now what? _she thought to herself. Here she was, taking residence in her biggest enemy's habitation, for reasons that she still didn't quite understand (or at least _want _to understand), and all she could think of to do was—

Her stomach growled.

Blossom clutched it and sighed to herself. She was hungry. Go figure.

"I wonder what there is to eat around here?" she wondered aloud to herself. "I'll need to scrounge something up for myself eventually…"

Having thoroughly convinced herself, she rolled out of bed and hovered out the door, heading for the kitchen. For once, she was slightly grateful for her perfect memory—having built the place, Blossom knew exactly where the kitchen was… unless if Mojo had happened to do some renovations throughout the years.

Luckily, the kitchen was right where she remembered it. She floated inside.

"Good morning, Blossom," said Mojo, preparing eggs at the stove. He didn't even turn around to look at her.

"Good morning," said Blossom, trying her best to sound civil. "What do you have around here for breakfast?"

"Do not needlessly trouble yourself with worrying about your morning victuals. I am, right now and as we are speaking, preparing for you eggs and toast—the eggs being sunny-side up and the toast being only lightly browned, just the way you like it."

"How do you—never mind," muttered Blossom. It would be useless to pretend that she forgot that Mojo knew her every thought—she obviously remembered, and Mojo obviously knew that she remembered.

"I trust that your sleep was satisfactory?" he said.

"Why are you even bothering to—wait a minute," Blossom suddenly said. "If we've got the same mind, like you say—"

"I've wondered that myself," Mojo interrupted, placing two eggs and two pieces of toast each on two separate plates. "I am still working on—"

"You said you'd let me talk!" cried Blossom.

"Oh yes, I did," said Mojo. Placing her breakfast plate in front of her, he said with a sort of malicious grin, "Go ahead and state your question."

Blossom fumed. There was something… _degrading _about asking a question when the person you're asking it to already knows what it is. But still, she wasn't about to let Mojo turn her into a mute. "If we've got the same mind, then how is it that you were awake before me? Unless if you can prepare eggs and toast remarkably fast, you would have had to have woken up before me to prepare all this and get ready yourself."

"I was still extremely sleepy until you yourself woke up," said Mojo, buttering his own piece of toast. "But you do raise an interesting question. If we share the same mind, as it has become very obvious to me, and even to you, then it would stand to reason that we would both sleep and wake up at the same times. I have, however, come up with a theory as to why this is not always the case."

Mojo paused to take a drink from his glass of orange juice that had been previously set on the table. A _long _drink.

"Go on," Blossom finally said, emphasizing her irritated tone.

"It has everything to do with what we should be in _theory. _In _theory, _which is to say we should presume, reasonably believe, and deduce by our logic, our minds should literally be one—that is, we _should, _theoretically, supposedly, and presumably, only be one person, with one body. However, we are obviously not—you are a young female human, while I am an older male monkey, which are about as opposite from each other as you can get—and thus, while our brains were _meant _to be the same they are still missing some connections—and some similarities."

"Such as…?"

"Well, Blossom, despite your sometimes evil tendencies, and even—I am ashamed to admit this—my rare feelings of guilt, it is apparent that your thoughts and morals are decidedly what is normally considered 'good', while mine are decidedly what is normally considered 'evil'."

"I'm still not getting exactly what you mean," said Blossom. "We were supposed to be one mind? How does that work out?"

Mojo sighed. "Explaining this is difficult, even to someone of my colossal intelligence to someone of your colossal intelligence. In time, when you will allow yourself to break down that barrier in your mind and allow our minds to truly be one, you will understand this just as well as I do."

"I want to understand now," snapped Blossom, not adding that she was going to hold out on letting Mojo into her head as long as she possibly could.

"Very well," sighed Mojo. "This would be much easier if you would just accept that you and I could have something much greater than a telepathic relationship. My theory, idea, hypothesis, guess, speculation—"

"Mojo!"

"I'm getting there! –and general conclusion is that, when the Professor created you and your sisters, the result was not what it should have been."

"What do you mean?"

"This is only a theory, assumption… all that, mind you," Mojo pointed out. "To test my theory, and to understand it better, I would have to ask the Professor about it, and I would rather cut off my own fingers and eat them then approach _him _for help. But to be brief and to the point, you and your sisters were scientifically not what _should _have been the result of that experiment. Something went wrong."

"What could that have been?" asked Blossom. "It wasn't the Chemical X, because without that, there was just sugar, spice, and everything nice, and when you mix that together, you just get a mess."

"As I previously told you earlier, I have no idea," said Mojo, looking as if he was growing impatient with this conversation. "My only guess is that something went wrong, and your mind was split and copied into my own, but not entirely. For if it _had _been entirely, it would have taken both of us far shorter than four years to realize the connection!"

"That's why you only started knowing my thoughts _after _you realized… and that we only feel bits and pieces of each other…" said Blossom softly.

Mojo smiled. "Ah, you are now finally beginning to understand," he said.

Blossom shuddered to herself—she _hated _when he used _that _voice; it sent chills down her spine each and every time she heard it.

"Do you have perfect memory like I do?" she asked suddenly.

"Yet another bit of evidence to the fact that our minds are not entirely the same as they should be—for I do not. That is, in my own separate mind, at least. Of course, when you run through your _own _memories, I experience them just as clearly as you do. But now, let's change the subject—although discussing scientific matters with you is a rare pleasure, Blossom. You alone on this earth have an intellect to rival my own."

"Stop with the flattery, Mojo."

"I am only speaking what we both now know is scientific fact—or at least theory," Mojo quickly added. "However, I realize that you are reluctant to talk about this right now. A pity. But as this is the case, what exactly do you wish to do today?"

"I… I don't know," Blossom admitted.

"Well, I suggest you think about it," said Mojo, focusing his attention back on his breakfast. "We both know that you are not here for no reason."

"As soon as I figure out just what that reason is," Blossom murmured.

"You know what it is," smiled Mojo. "You are just too proud to admit what it is—that you _need _me to give you all my knowledge."

"I don't _need _you," snapped Blossom, pushing herself out of her chair and learning forward against the table. "I don't need _anybody!" _

"Alright then," said Mojo, still smiling. "If you don't need me, then why did you come here in the first place?"

"Because—because—I don't _need _you, I just _want _you. Your teachings, I mean!" Blossom quickly clarified.

Mojo laughed. "That was the perfect example of what is commonly referred to as a Freudian slip."

"Just shut up!" yelled Blossom, blowing up at Mojo yet again. "Trust me, if there was anyone _else _who could give me knowledge, then I would have gone to him first! I _hate _that you're the only one on Earth who can help me! _I __**hate**__ that!"_ With that, Blossom stormed out of the kitchen.

Mojo smirked. "What a stubborn cuss. She didn't even finish her breakfast."

…

"A very Happy New Year to you all…"

Blossom had plopped herself down in front of Mojo's high-definition TV—that he probably stole from someplace—and turned on the news, trying to act as nonchalant as she possibly could, in a desperate attempt to convince both herself and Mojo that she _wasn't _angry, that she _wasn't _absolutely melting every time Mojo smiled at her, and that she _didn't _need him at all.

Six years.

For six years now, she had _never_ had any privacy at all! Every feeling of guilt, every nasty thought, every haughty air that she had felt but rarely showed—the right of everyone else to keep those thoughts to themselves had been one that Blossom had lost—and she didn't even realize it until now!

God, it made her blood boil.

"…our breaking news story today—Blossom Utonium of the Powerpuff Girls has gone missing…"

"Oh no," whispered Blossom.

"A runaway note was found, but the police have not yet ruled out a possible kidnapping of the leader of the Powerpuff Girls. Searches of the Powerpuff Girls' main antagonists' houses will be underway today."

Blossom stared at the screen for a few seconds, and then…

"_**MOJO!"**_

She zoomed back into the kitchen. "They're gonna come here, Mojo, they're gonna be looking for me! You have to hide me!"

"Hide you?" snorted Mojo. "When searching for you, those officers will most likely turn my observatory house inside out during their search for a location of where I might have hid you."

Blossom had known Mojo long enough to instantly figure out the focal point of that long and redundant sentence. "I've gotta hide _somewhere!"_ she cried.

"More than that! You will have to hide in more than one place!"

"How will I do that?"

"You will have to let my mind into yours so that I can convey to you where you should go, and by what direction, so that you can remain unseen by the police so that they will not see you!"

"I can't do that! I haven't learned how yet!"

"Learned how? There's nothing to learn! You just don't _want _to learn." Mojo smiled again. "Suit yourself. You can, of course, just explain to the police officers that you are here by your own choice."

"They'd arrest you anyway," said Blossom, shaking her head. "They wouldn't want to take any chances."

"Why Blossom!" cried Mojo, looking surprised. "You shock me—as much as you _can _shock me by now."

"What do you mean—oh, and they'd make me go back home," Blossom quickly added.

Mojo just smiled at her, raising an eyebrow. "That is only a secondary concern, of course."

If Blossom had had a mallet, she would have smacked herself over the head with it at that moment. As it was, she was having a hard enough time fighting the urge to yank her brain out of her head and yelling at it for being such an idiot—for Mojo was right, of course. Her concern for Mojo had come before concern for herself.

A loud pounding interrupted Blossom's thoughts.

"Oh God—alright! Tell me where to go!" Blossom whispered.

"Go to your room for the time being," said Mojo quickly, pushing her in the direction of the guest bedroom.

"I _know _where it is!"

"Then go—and do not leave until I tell you! Keep your mind open and be ready for any information that I might be sending you!"

Blossom hovered, silently but quickly, to her room and shut the door behind her.

She turned on her ultra-sonic hearing, and just in time, for only seconds after Blossom shut the door behind her, Mojo opened the front door.

"_**What?" **_he bellowed. Blossom smiled to herself. He certainly wasn't acting suspicious… for Mojo, at least.

"My God, he actually _is _still alive," said a voice in surprise.

"Try to conceal your disappointment" snapped Mojo. "For what reason have you disturbed me by pounding on my door with your fists?"

"We have a warrant to search your house for the whereabouts of Blossom Utonium—"

"Oh, _that. _I just saw that on the news." Mojo sounded extremely irritated. "The disappearance of one of those accursed Powerpuff Girls—while fortunate—gives you no right to come barging into my place of dwelling!"

"As a former foe of the girls, you are on the top of our list of likely suspects of her kidnapping—if she was in fact kidnapped. It seems unlikely, so the sooner you let us in and search the place the sooner we'll leave."

"Alright, alright," snapped Mojo. "Just do not touch anything—and get this over with quickly and rapidly!"

Blossom heard the policemen step inside. "Let's check the lab first."

She waited, hearing every movement, everything they were looking through. After a few long minutes, she heard them move into another room.

And then…

Blossom had been expecting her signal from Mojo—if she, in fact, was actually able to receive one—to be one in words, but what she was experiencing now was totally different. She felt that she should go into the laboratory through the main doors and hide in one of the supply closets, since the policemen were in the back by now and wouldn't see her by the path that she should take—but this information was not coming at her in words, but more like… well, like a thought, like a quick sketch of the groundwork of the building.

Well, duh. It probably wasn't even Mojo who was sending her that thought… it was just her logic and reasoning that led her to come to that conclusion.

_Even though you hadn't been thinking about it until that thought suddenly and unexpectedly popped into your head. _

Well—well—what did it matter who thought it? What mattered was that she had to move to a new location, and quickly.

As quietly as she could, she opened the door, and then floated quickly to the laboratory, squeezing in the closet and silently closing the door behind her.

And she waited.

And waited.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, she heard one of the officers say, "Looks like she's not here."

"Of course she's not here," Mojo growled. "If I had captured her, you don't think I'd keep it a secret, do you?"

"I suppose not," admitted the other officer. "Let's go."

Step, step, step—door opening—step, step—door shutting.

Blossom climbed out of the closet, breathing a sigh of relief.

"As if they actually think I would have kidnapped you," Mojo muttered to himself, entering the lab. "I, Mojo Jojo, would not stoop to such a petty crime without leaving a demand for ransom!"

"Mojo…"

Mojo stopped and looked at Blossom. Blossom gulped, looked down, and shook her head.

"Go on and say it, Blossom. I know you want to."

"Damn you, Mojo, damn you and your mind reading abilities." She looked up again, glaring at him. "Thank you for telling me where to go. Alright? I said it."

"Wasn't so hard, was it?" grinned Mojo.

"Swallowing my pride is very hard to do, Mojo. You should know."

"Yes, I know that very well."

Blossom hovered towards the door to the living room. "I hate you, Mojo. I really do. Leave me alone—if I want you, I'll come to you, you got that?"

"I am entirely at your command, Blossom," said Mojo, giving a mock bow to her. "Despite the fact that I hate you as well, I have every intention of honoring whatever requests you make of me. After all, you are my guest."

"Good," said Blossom sharply. "You know I can leave any time I want!"

Mojo laughed rudely. "You will be here until the day you die—do not deceive yourself!"

Fuming, Blossom spun around and shot out of the room, singing "Row Row Row Your Boat" to herself, anything, anything to get Mojo out of her head!


	5. Damned If I Do

New Year's Day had been on a Friday, and Blossom spent that entire Friday simply watching TV or studying Danish from the book the Professor had given her. She followed this same schedule on Saturday. And on Sunday. She avoided Mojo as best as she could, but when she _was _in contact with him, she made it a point to speak to him—no matter how pointless speaking was by now.

Unfortunately—or fortunately—Mojo was always there anyway, even when Blossom hadn't explicitly asked for him. She had grown thirsty while reading her book and decided to get up for a glass of water when she had finished the chapter she was reading, but twenty seconds later Mojo was standing in front of her, holding a glass of ice water for her. She wondered to herself what Mojo was planning for supper, thought that tacos sounded good, and suddenly Mojo was heading out the door—"I must go to the store to purchase taco shells, for I do not have any, and without taco shells we would be unable to have tacos."

In short, Mojo was catering to Blossom's every whim.

Blossom put on an air of haughty indifference, but in actuality Mojo's actions were at the same time confusing her, angering her, and making her fall in love with him all over again—not that she'd ever really stopped loving him in the first place.

But she tried to keep that thought of her head—she didn't want to think that, and she _certainly _didn't want Mojo to know that she thought that—although she knew that it was far too late to hide that from him now anyway.

So, that Sunday evening, Blossom sat in front of the TV, trying to act as if she was totally engrossed in the trashy sitcom she was watching, as if she wasn't thinking of anything else.

Mojo was sitting on the other end of the couch, just watching her. Blossom tried to ignore that as well, although this wasn't the first time he had done this. His expression baffled Blossom whenever she'd steal a glance at him, trying to figure out what he was thinking. It was far too affectionate to be someone observing a scientific experiment, and yet it was far too calculating to be someone gazing upon a loved one.

Well, whatever it was, Blossom had had enough of it.

"What do you _want?" _she asked, snapping her head towards him and glaring.

"Oh, nothing in particular," said Mojo, folding his hands and inspecting them in a stately manner. "I was only wondering when you'd get around to beginning your training with me, for this _is _the reason you have come, and I am not getting any younger here."

Blossom wrinkled her brow in confusion. True, it was obvious that Mojo wasn't young anymore. His fur was graying, his face was wrinkled, and his eyes were even baggier than they had been before. But still…

"Mojo, how old are you?"

Mojo smiled. "I am not absolutely certain, but I believe I am approximately the same age as you—perhaps a year or two older."

"You shouldn't be getting old yet," said Blossom. "I mean, you're a chimp, and they can live up to sixty years old!"

"You are failing to remember that during my life, I have also been exposed to large amounts of Chemical X, I have been beaten up by three little girls with superpowers more times than I can count, and I spent as much time in prison as I did out of it back when I used to be an evil villain!"

"Why would it be the Chemical X?" Blossom asked, her curiosity for new knowledge overtaking her annoyance at Mojo. "I'm a product of Chemical X too, but I haven't prematurely aged."

Mojo snorted. "Sure. What kind of five-year-old studies conversational Chinese? Besides, you _are _Chemical X. I am only _affected_ by Chemical X." He glared dangerously at her, and Blossom shrunk back in fear of her former enemy. "How dare you whine and moan about how terrible you have it—you claim to love me, but you've never thought of what _I _have to go through. Chemical X made you strong, brilliant, beautiful, and perfect, while it made me deformed, ugly, maniacal and flawed. You have your mind _and _your superpowers, while I only have my mind—and look where that's brought me. Nowhere!"

Blossom was unable to say anything to that. He was right; she _hadn't _ever considered how terribly Mojo's life was ruined due to the Chemical X. How could the same thing have such different affects on people? While some of the side effects that the Chemical X brought on Blossom were unwanted—the memory, for one—most of it was wonderful. The ability to fly, the exhilarating speeds at which she could move, the ice breath… and also, as a child, she and her sisters had been adorably cute thanks to the Chemical X, which…

Wait.

_Beautiful?_

"Did you just call me…?" Blossom whispered.

And then, suddenly, another question popped into Blossom's mind, one that she strangely hadn't even thought of until now—_How does Mojo feel about me?_

Mojo leaned over and smiled, but said nothing.

Oh, duh. He was waiting for her to ask the question. Just like she had made him promise he would.

But she couldn't. She couldn't bring herself to ask it. Her mind didn't want to hear it asked out loud, her throat was too dry, she was still being stubborn—whatever the reason, Blossom was unable to do anything but sit and gape open-mouthed at Mojo. _But I want to know the answer, _she managed to think.

"Of _course _you want to know the answer," said Mojo, slowly moving closer and closer to a petrified Blossom. "For it is just the kind of question that you love, Blossom—a simple one with a complicated answer, an answer that you do not know. Would it be sufficient to say that I feel for you about the same way that you feel for me? I _hate _your morality, I _hate _the fact that everyone instantly loves you, I _hate _that you've invaded my head and have refused to leave, letting me know every complex thought that passes through your brilliant little mind! And I _hate _that… you are so _beautiful… _that even though I look at you and want to crush you, I also want to…"

He was now inches from her face, despite the fact that Blossom had recoiled as far back into the couch cushion as she could. With one soft, gentle motion that seemed so unlike Mojo, he reached out and stroked a strand of her hair.

"I'm not beautiful…" Blossom managed to choke out. None of the Powerpuff Girls were ever referred to as beautiful anymore. After all, they had been created as the perfect _little _girls, and while being fifteen years old and at their full adult height, the three of them were just barely five feet tall, with no curves to speak of and such small breasts that they might as well not be there at all. Their eyes were still large and childlike, but their faces were creased with worry lines—Blossom's especially—and battle scars. The Powerpuff Girls were called many things—heroic, wonderful, powerful—but attractive or any of its synonyms never reached that list.

"I do not pay attention to your petty human standards of beauty," said Mojo softly, still playing with her hair. "It is your confidence that makes you beautiful, Blossom. Despite all the feelings of doubt that run through your mind, you are _such _a stubborn actress, for you refuse to admit that you are not always in control, always conducting yourself with a poise of…" He stopped, unable to say anything else, and froze. Two sets of pink eyes locked in growing desire.

Blossom broke the silence by letting out a soft moan, her body quivering. Mojo continued stroking her hair, along with her face, while Blossom let her arms slide around his waist and up and down his back. This got a moan out of Mojo as well, who leaned in even closer so that he was now on top of Blossom. Blossom shuddered at his every touch—a touch of her cheek, a stroke of her neck, the fluid motion of both his hands now running along her sides, as his hands ran against her breasts—Blossom let out a small cry—down to her waist, finally touching her flesh—

"No, Mojo, stop," she suddenly said, dropping her arms.

Dear Lord in heaven. That was almost _too _close. Even as it was, her heart was still thumping madly and her whole body was trembling with desire—most notably those lower regions of her body, the private bits.

And strangely enough, she was feeling something else too. Something that she would have mistaken for her own feelings of desire, but they were somehow different…

Was she possibly feeling Mojo's thoughts as well?

"I _know _you want this," said Mojo, his voice hoarse and lusty.

"That's rapists' talk," said Blossom, her voice nearly the same as his.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I do not believe that the average rapist knows his victim's every thought the way I do yours."

"It doesn't matter what I want," Blossom said, her voice trembling. "It doesn't matter what my body wants. My mind knows that this is wrong and so I'm not going to give in. I'm not a slave to my hormones."

"But your _mind _wants this, too. That's why you came here in the _first _place."

"I came here to learn from you."

"Then why haven't you? You stubborn little—"

"Don't say it!"

"Very well," said Mojo, smirking. "I am no rapist. I will go no further with you until you give me verbal permission."

"And that will be never," growled Blossom.

"Why not?" said Mojo, slow and calculating, leaning in so close to Blossom that his lips brushed hers as he talked. "It would only be one step further from where we are now. Besides, sexual intercourse is something that you have no first-hand knowledge of, and I know how important the gathering of knowledge is to you."

"I'm not going to give _you _that pleasure," hissed Blossom, her heart thumping faster and stronger than ever before. "I want to experience it with a nice boy, someone who's sweet and gentle and loves me—"

"_No one _can love you as I do!" snapped Mojo. "For _no one _knows your thoughts as I do!"

"You've taken enough from me already! It's _your _fault I'm always so depressed and emo all the time! You _used _me—and being the stupid kindergartner I was, I trusted you and loved you more that any sane person should be allowed to—but then you _betrayed _me! I grew up that day, way before I should have, because you killed the child in me—but somehow my love for you grew up too. _No one _should go through what you put me through! I _hate _you, Mojo! I _hate _you! And you are _not _taking my virginity!"

Mojo said nothing to that, and yet Blossom felt a swarm of emotions from him at that very moment. He gazed at her, wonderingly, passionately, lustfully, perhaps still a bit vengefully, but despite all that, it was painfully obvious that he loved her.

She felt his sexual longing as well, which awakened her own—which had only hardly been dormant during their conversation anyway. Her inhibitions lowered, she couldn't even begin to protest when Mojo's hands started caressing her face again. He leaned in, as if to kiss her, but he suddenly raised her up and kissed her neck instead.

"Stop," gasped Blossom, although she knew perfectly well that there was no backing to that word. She _wanted_ him to continue, she _wanted _to be loved by him, she _wanted _that shocking and chilling ecstasy that he was giving her. She _wanted _to make love to him.

_But I won't give in._

_Why not? We are nearly there, and this is what you want._

_No—this is bestiality, this is pedophilia, you're my enemy and I'm not going to give you this pleasure!_

_It would be extremely anti-climactic to have worked up our bodies to this state and then do nothing. _Mojo worked his way down her neck and to her chest—Blossom shivered violently with agonized pleasure. _Besides, who _else _would you ever do this with?_

_There are plenty of people—_

_You trust nobody! You would hardly even trust me, even though you have finally broken down that barrier in your brain, your gray matter, your cerebral cortex, and thus you know everything that I am thinking!_

Despite everything that was happening to her—Mojo's silent urging, her body crying out in torturous anticipation, the attention Mojo was focusing on her still-covered breasts—Blossom somehow made herself consider Mojo's question, doing all in her power to consider ever making love to anyone else—it didn't matter who, Chris, Brick, that kid who always sat at the lunch table next to her and looked at her funny—_anyone!_

But she couldn't. Mojo was right—she could never trust anyone else to even get _near _to her, much less make love to her. And even if she ever _could _trust someone like that, would he awaken the same passion in her that Mojo was now?

_No… I'm NOT going to give in…_

_You do not want to die a virgin, do you?_

_I'm NOT giving in…_

_It is only inevitable… you might as well give in now, Blossom… for with our added desires I am finding it nearly impossible to keep my promise…_

_I'm NOT…_

_My God, I admire your persistence…_

"ALRIGHT!" Blossom finally shrieked.

That one word was all Mojo needed. With a sudden, passionate fury, he shoved Blossom against the arm of the couch. Blossom let out a short cry of pain.

As he tore off his clothes and tore off _her _clothes, Blossom could only lie helpless beneath him, tormented with the realization that Mojo was going to hurt her, and he was going to do everything in his power to make _sure_ that he hurt her.

It was a realization that had to be made fast, for Mojo wasted no time. There was no down time, no slight pause from one stage to the next. As soon as he had stripped off both of their clothes, Mojo plunged in.

Blossom had heard that the first time usually hurt, but hearing or reading something was completely different from actually experiencing it—and Mojo had been nowhere near gentle. Everything inside of her felt like it was being torn apart—her virginity, her composure (what was left of it, that is), her moral standards. She started to scream, but Mojo cut her off by roughly slamming her against the armrest again. And again. And again. The slamming, all the while, was accompanied by him pushing into her, then pulling out, then pushing in again…

She was unable to scream anymore. She was unable to see anything anymore. Her vision was blurred with tears, her mouth garbled, her ability to breathe having apparently taken off and fled. Not even her mind was functioning… all it could think was _oh my God… oh my God… why did I let him do this to me… what was I thinking… MAKE IT STOP…_

Soon, her thoughts were not even words any longer, as each motion grew faster, rougher, and more intense. All she felt was fire and passion—from both her mind and Mojo's.

Finally, Mojo reached his climax, and Blossom, feeling his sexual arousals just as clearly as if they were her own, cried out with him. As their desire finally subsided, Blossom suddenly recalled that she had superpowers and, weakly but with complete resolve, pushed Mojo out and off of her.

The tears that had collected in her eyes finally tumbled out without inhibition. "I can't believe I let you do that," she managed to choke out.

Mojo just smirked at her. Foolish girl, it was only a matter of _time _before she gave into her obvious desires.

Blossom pressed her hands against her head, fruitlessly trying to block out Mojo's thoughts that popped up into her own mind as clearly and as suddenly as if they were her own. "That wasn't the way it was supposed to be," she said roughly, her body still aching. "My first time having sex should have been _gentle, _from someone who wanted to treat me tenderly, from someone who only loved me and didn't hate me as well!"

"It _should _have been, it _should _have been," sighed Mojo. "When has either of us ever gotten what we thought we deserved? Besides, you admitted that you could never have done this with anyone _but _me."

"I know," snapped Blossom, wiping the tears from her eyes.

Mojo watched her, astounded by the strength she was showing despite what he had just put her through. It had pained part of him to do that to her—and not just because he felt her every pain as clearly as if it was his own. For she was right—she _did _deserve to have a perfect boyfriend and have perfect lovemaking, because she _was _perfect…

…and yet, after all she had done to him, after all the punches, all the kicks, all the "you're-going-to-jail-now-Mojo!"s, and how SHE had gotten the good end of the Chemical X blast, while HE got stuck with the afterbits, including the imperfections of her own mind—Mojo _wanted _to hurt her, and _he _wanted to be the one who did it. He HAD to. He both loved her and hated her—and what better way to mix the two than sex?

Blossom marveled at the complexity of Mojo's thoughts, at how he actually felt sorry for what he had done to her—although in a strange way, for he still would have had sex with her anyway. Perhaps… perhaps he was feeling sorry for the _circumstances _they were in, rather than feeling sorry for themselves as individuals?

Mojo smiled in approval. Gorgeous, stubborn, brilliant Blossom. Her intelligence was wasted on the world. She deserved so much more than what the world could give her.

Blossom closed her eyes, feeling like a traitor to herself for actually appreciating Mojo's compliments.

"But you still hurt me," she murmured.

"As well as myself," reminded Mojo. "Your pain is my pain. Now more than ever."

"Do you think that makes us even?"

"As even as we ever could be."

"You've hurt me more than I've hurt you."

"No, you have put me through far worse than what I have put _you _through."

"Maybe we _are _even…"

The expenditure of their energy was taking its toll on both Blossom and Mojo, and they both slowly sank into their two corners of the couch, sleep overtaking them.

But before they had completely drifted off, Blossom murmured one last sentence, one that she could hardly answer, one that Mojo could hardly answer, one to which the answer didn't really seem to matter anyway.

"Why do I still love you?"

…

Monday morning, Buttercup was unusually anxious to go to school.

Wherever Blossom was, she wasn't going to miss school. No matter how much she hated school, she would still go. It was her _duty. _

"She'll be there," said Buttercup confidently to Bubbles as the two girls flew off to school. "She'll be there, and then I can ask her where the hell she's been these past few days!"

"Not that I don't hope you're right," said Bubbles, "but what if she ran away to somewhere other than Townsville? No one's found her here yet! And if she really wanted to leave, I don't think she'd come back to school—"

"Blossom wouldn't skip school!"

"Blossom _hates _school!"

"That never stopped her before!"

"Like I said," said Bubbles sadly, "I'm really hoping that you're _right _and that Blossom _will _be there… but I wouldn't get my hopes up."

"She'll be there," Buttercup insisted. "I'm right, you'll see."

"I'm sure you're right," sighed Bubbles. "You're just as right as you were about Chris. And the Rowdyruff Boys." When the policemen had conducted their searches of the girls' villains, it was pretty apparent that the Rowdyruff Boys didn't have Blossom—"Why would we _want _that ugly hag?" Brick was quoted as saying.

"Well—third time's the charm," Buttercup said awkwardly.

…

If only.

Blossom wasn't there. She wasn't at jazz band. She wasn't at lunch. She was never at her locker.

"She's really gone then," said Buttercup softly as she and Bubbles flew home from school.

"Do you think… do you think we'll ever see her again?"

"Maybe," said Buttercup, her voice low with resignation, as she seemed to finally accept that Blossom wasn't coming back. "Maybe someday she'll be happy enough to come back…?"

"I hope so."

"How—" Buttercup began, but then shook her head. "Never mind."

"How what?"

"I was just wondering how… how we'll be able to fight crime without her," Buttercup finally mumbled. "I know I always wanted to be the leader… and I'm not saying I'd be a bad one!... but I don't think I'd be as good a leader as Blossom was."

"You'll do just fine," smiled Bubbles. "You're smart and tough, and you'll be a good leader. Besides, you just have to lead _me."_

By now, the girls had reached their house. Buttercup floated down to the front door.

"Wherever she is, I hope she's okay, and I hope she made the right choice," she said softly, opening the door.

Bubbles followed her sister inside. "We're home, Professor!"

Silence.

"Professor?" Buttercup hollered.

"He's probably still down in the lab," said Bubbles.

"He was there all day yesterday!" cried Buttercup. "What's he doing?"

"I dunno," shrugged Bubbles. "He said it was something to do with finding out where Blossom went to."

"He can't figure it out by _science!" _Buttercup said, rolling her eyes, although in truth she felt her heart ache for her father. He thought _everything _could be solved by science… "She was upset and she left—what's there to figure out?"

Bubbles shrugged again. "I don't know," she said sadly. "Maybe he's just spending all his time working just to get his mind _off _Blossom—"

"BUBBLES! BUTTERCUP! COME HERE, QUICKLY!"

The girls gasped and sped down to the basement. "What's the matter, Professor?" Buttercup asked, frantically scanning the lab. Everything _looked _okay…

"I've just discovered something, and I need you girls here to prove my theory!" said the Professor. He was sitting at his desk, a desk littered with page after page of mathematical equations and scientific mumbo-jumbo. He had a stained coffee mug at his hand and a day-old stubble of a beard growing on his face.

"_THAT'S _what you called us down here for?" Buttercup cried. "I thought you were hurt, or in trouble, or _something _from the way you screamed! Why would—"

"Buttercup!" interrupted Bubbles harshly. She turned to the Professor. "I'm here, Professor. What do you need us for?"

Buttercup sighed. "Yeah, Professor, what do you need us for?"

"I've been calculating the scientific equations pertaining to your creation—the mixture of sugar, spice, and everything nice with an accidental addition of Chemical X," said the Professor, rapid-fire. "It occurred to me that when I take the circumference of the cosine of the sugar, multiplied by the chemical reaction of the spices I used to the formula squared, plus the properties of Chemical X times pi and subtracted from—"

"PROFESSOR!" cried Bubbles and Buttercup.

"Oh, sorry," said the Professor, abashed. "Basically, girls, for these past few days I've been working on what I should have been working on for years now—that is, the exact figures behind your creation, what exactly caused it. If I had only figured this out _sooner, _maybe Blossom wouldn't have left."

"What does this have to do with her running away?" Buttercup demanded.

"I don't know—I hope nothing," admitted the Professor. "I could be wrong. I _hope _I am. Because if I'm right, then that would mean that Blossom is… I'll get to that when I have to. _You _girls are going to prove my validity of this fact."

"I still don't get what you're talking about," said Bubbles, blinking in confusion.

"I'll start from the beginning," said the Professor. "When I mixed sugar, spice, and everything nice, I was attempting to create _one _little girl, not three. The mixture was apparently unstable, for it broke into three separate parts."

"We know all this," said Buttercup impatiently.

"The point is, if the experiment had gone as I was hoping, there would only be _one _of you, not three. And the perfection that I had hoped for was split among you."

"So you're saying that, as a whole, we're perfect?" Bubbles asked.

"Not entirely. You and…" The Professor hesitated. "But I'll get into that later. What makes a perfect little girl is both physical and mental abilities… and the two of you got the physical."

"Are you implying that we're _stupid?" _Buttercup spat out before she could stop herself.

"No, not at all, no more than I'm implying that Blossom is weak! But she _does _have greater mental capacities but less strength than both of you."

"We've noticed that before," admitted Bubbles. "You're saying that it's scientific?"

"That's not the only thing that's scientific," sighed the Professor. "Or, at least, perhaps. This is where I need you girls to help. As I said, you two embody the _physical _attributes of perfection, but those were split between you as well. Theoretically, you see, both of you should have the same mind and body—be one girl instead of two, in other words."

"But… but we're so different!" Buttercup stuttered.

"Exactly," said the Professor. "With physical powers like yours, there has to be a balance of how to use it—a balance between using it to _help _people or to _hurt _people. Bubbles, you predominately _help _people, but Buttercup…"

"Why are you always bashing _me?" _cried Buttercup.

"And I hurt people too! I'm a crimefighter!" cried Bubbles. "And Buttercup isn't mean all the time either!"

"I know, I know," said the Professor hastily. "Buttercup, sweetie, there's nothing at all wrong with what you are. Where would the Powerpuff Girls—and the city—be without you? And you're absolutely right, Bubbles. You _do _cross into each other's territory. Both mentally… and physically."

"What do you mean, physically?" asked Buttercup, sounding both scoffing and worried at the same time.

The Professor sighed. "I haven't kept a tally of this, so this is by no means accurate or scientific, but I have noticed that the two of you consistently feel pains in the same place, at the same time."

"Bubbles is sensitive," scoffed Buttercup. "She feels _everyone's _pain."

"But… but yours more than anyone else's, Buttercup," said Bubbles. "And you feel mine too—like when your left hand hurts after _I'm _the one who's just taken an essay test!"

"Who's to say it didn't hurt because of what _I _was doing?"

"Yeah right! You're right-handed!"

"No I'm not—I'm ambidextrous!" snapped Buttercup, turning away from Bubbles.

That _was _true, of course—that was one of the girls' "powers", if you will. They were all pretty much ambidextrous, finding left-handed punches just as easy to swing as right-handed ones, which was _quite _useful for crimefighting. Despite this, however, the girls did have their individual preferences, especially when it came to writing. Blossom and Buttercup were both predominately right-handed… while Bubbles was predominately left-handed.

"Whenever I write for forty-five minutes straight, it hurts my hand," said Bubbles, her eyes wide with realization. "And it hurts Buttercup's hand too, even though she's right-handed and it shouldn't! You're right, Professor! We _do _feel each other's pain!"

"No, we don't!" snapped Buttercup.

"Yes we do—and I'll prove it!" said Bubbles defensively. "I'll hurt myself so bad, you won't be able to deny it!"

"Now Bubbles," said the Professor quickly, "is that really necessary? I don't want you hurting yourself just to—"

"It's okay, Professor… I'm tough." Bubbles smiled her sweetest smile.

"You'll be hurting yourself for nothing—because I won't feel a thing!" said Buttercup.

"Oh, yes you will!" cried Bubbles, zipping out of the lab.

She heard Buttercup's protesting and the Professor's "don't hurt yourself, Bubbles!" but she paid no heed to either one of them. She _was _going to hurt herself—but not cause any real bodily damage to herself—to her _outer _body, at least. But it would be a pain that Buttercup couldn't possibly ignore.

She reached the kitchen and, feeling her stomach tie up in knots, pulled out the Professor's supply of jalapeño peppers.

The Professor loved to spice up his food, and he'd always encourage the girls to give it a try as well. Bubbles had never agreed to this, but Buttercup and Blossom once relented and tried a small nibble of a pepper. Their faces flushed and they both held their mouths open and fanned them—as if that would help—for a good minute or so. Although Bubbles hadn't tasted one, she too felt her mouth burning up, and now she knew why. Still, though, it hadn't lasted very long… and the pain had been fairly bearable.

But not this time. Bubbles was very reluctant to put her mouth through this much torture, but she wanted to make damn sure that Buttercup _felt _this pain, a pain that would be impossible to hide.

She grabbed a pepper… aw, heck. Two more for good measure. Then, with a gulp and a shaky "Here goes nothing!" she popped all three into her mouth at once and chewed.

For a brief moment, nothing happened. But soon a rapidly growing fire in Bubbles's mouth arrived, making her—

OH GOD!

Bubbles quickly spit out the half-chewed peppers in the sink, although that did nothing for her flaming mouth. Her eyes running with tears, her face a burning, flushing red, she scrambled to the cabinet and pulled out the biggest glass she could find, rushing it over to the sink—the water was coming out of the faucet too slowly! SHE COULDN'T WAIT! The glass was hardly half full, but Bubbles sloshed it down anyway. It did nothing.

As she frantically refilled the glass, her whole face still on fire, she took a small bit of comfort in knowing that even Buttercup couldn't possibly ignore _this _pain.

…

"I don't know _what _she's going to do, but it won't work," said Buttercup, crossing her arms and glaring at the Professor. "There's no way I can feel her pain—no way at all!"

"I just hope she doesn't hurt herself too badly," said the Professor, wringing his hands in worry.

"Why don't you go up there and find her and tell her to forget this whole stupid idea?"

"We _need _to test this theory, Buttercup, otherwise how will we know if it's true or not? Right now, both of our opinions are just that, neither of them backed by any true statistics."

"No, mine's backed by _logic," _said Buttercup firmly. "Because how could… how… oh… OH SHIT!"

Buttercup's mouth exploded in a fiery torture. "Water, Professor!" she choked out, her face now a burning red. "She freaking ate a—"

"She got into my peppers!" cried the Professor, recognizing exactly what was happening to Buttercup. "It's not water you need! You need milk!" Grabbing her arm, he raced her up the stairs and into the kitchen, where Bubbles was still chugging as much water as she could manage.

"Let me—have some—of that!" gasped Buttercup, trying to snatch away the glass from Bubbles.

"Wait—your turn!" gasped Bubbles.

"No, Bubbles, here!" cried the Professor, handing her a glass of milk. If Bubbles was confused, she didn't ask any questions. She snatched the glass and downed the milk in about half a second.

Buttercup could feel the pain in her mouth subsiding as soon as the milk reached Bubbles's lips, even though she hadn't been the one drinking it. But hell, she hadn't been the one who ate the peppers in the first place, and yet she couldn't possibly deny that she felt that.

The Professor handed another glass of milk to Buttercup, just in time for a still-pained Bubbles to hand her glass back to him with an injured request for "More!". For the next minute, the Professor was kept busy by refilling both of their glasses.

Finally, Bubbles had recovered enough to speak. "Looks like the Professor _was _right, huh, Buttercup?" she asked, winking at her sister.

Buttercup snarled at her. "That was a rotten, underhanded, dirty—"

"—and very effective testing method, I must say," said the Professor, giving Bubbles a smile of approval.

"Okay, so you were right," mumbled Buttercup. "But I still don't get what this has to do with Blossom running away."

The Professor sighed. "Girls… I wish this had _nothing _to do with why Blossom ran away, but my worst fears have become realized, I'm afraid."

"Why is that?" asked Bubbles. "What's the matter with Blossom?"

"When the three of you were created, Blossom was in the middle, thus 'getting in the way', if you will, of the oneness that the two of you were supposed to have. Because Blossom wasn't the _physical _representation of perfection, she was the _mental _representation of perfection. Or at least, she was supposed to be."

"Supposed to be," repeated Buttercup. "Then why isn't she? She seems pretty mentally perfect to me."

"No, perfection would be an equal balance of good and bad—knowing when to follow the rules and when to bend them. No, Blossom's attribute was split as well."

"Split? Between the three of us?" asked Bubbles.

The Professor shook his head sadly. "No."

"But there's only three of us," said Buttercup. "If Blossom's mind was split, then where did—"

She was interrupted by Bubbles's gasp, and the subsequent shatter of the glass she had been holding as it crashed to the floor.

"No," she whispered fearfully, shaking her head. "That can't be true, Professor!"

"What?" cried Buttercup, her voice breaking. _"What _can't be true?"

"There was someone else who was affected by your creation," said the Professor sadly, "and _he _got the other part of Blossom's mind. He possesses her same intelligence, but instead of distinguishing when to be good and when to be… well, evil, he is evil _all _the time. He and Blossom have, in essence, the same mind, just with different morals."

"No," whispered Buttercup. "Not…"

"…Mojo Jojo," finished Bubbles, in a hushed tone.

There was a stunned silence that filled the kitchen to bursting.

"_Are you actually saying that Blossom is with Mojo Jojo?" _Buttercup finally exploded.

The Professor reached into his pocket and pulled out Blossom's runaway note. "She said that she's with the only person on Earth who can understand her, and that she doesn't _want _us to know who that is."

"Blossom would _never _take up residence with our _worst enemy! _Or at least the guy who _used _to be our worst enemy!" Buttercup firmly insisted.

"Used to," said Bubbles, her mouth still agape with shock. "Besides, it would explain why she didn't want to tell us what was wrong with her or where she was going…"

There was another silence.

"We haven't heard from Mojo Jojo in _years," _Buttercup said. "He must have fallen off the face of the Earth by now!"

"It wouldn't hurt to go check his observatory, just in case," offered Bubbles.

"Good idea," said Buttercup. "Come on."

The two girls floated out the door, nervous apprehension filling both their bodies.


	6. Mind Games

It was the strangest sensation, skipping school. Blossom had always, deep down inside, _wanted _to do it, seeing as she hated school so much—but she always knew that she _shouldn't, _that it was the _law _for her to go to school, even though they were teaching her things she already knew. Still, however, she felt that, right now, she had every justification for skipping school, and her lingering feelings of doubt were put to rest by Mojo.

"Go to _school?" _he snorted. Despite the fact that they were both now completely and totally in tune with each other's minds, both Mojo and Blossom had resolved to continue talking—probably just because they both loved to hear themselves talk. "How could you even _think _of stooping to such a low, especially now? Do you not realize that you can learn _far _more from me than those underpaid teachers? Let us begin your training, which was, of course, the original reason for you originally coming here in the first place!"

"I know, but it's still wrong," sighed Blossom. "I _should _be a good citizen and go to school like I'm supposed to."

"So let me get this straight, Blossom: skipping school is wrong, but a fifteen-year-old girl running away from home to gather knowledge from and lose her virginity to her evil monkey foe _isn't? _Oh, I completely see the logic there! And that was sarcasm, by the way—I actually see no logic in your thoughts at all, and I say that knowing full well your thoughts, for I—"

Blossom sighed. "Alright, I get it, you win. I'll stay here." Without thinking, she cracked a grin—Mojo's habit of needless repetition had always amused her, although she had of course never let anyone know. Laughing fondly at your enemy's idiosyncrasies was probably not the best way to fight him.

"It pleases me that you find my manner of speaking amusing, droll, and in its own way charming, but we probably should get started on your lessons, for I know that you want to learn from me, and—"

"What do you have to teach me?" Blossom interrupted. "You know it can't be something that I already know."

"Of course," said Mojo. He took Blossom's hand and led her to a room that, when Blossom had helped build the observatory, had merely been a storage room. Now it was a veritable library, filled with piles and piles of unorganized books. "As you can see, my dear Blossom, throughout the years I have accumulated a number of evil books about evil which are very evil, and that you certainly would never have had access to in your non-evil life."

"…Evil?" Blossom asked.

Mojo smiled. "Do not think of it as evil, think of it as unacquired knowledge."

"It's tempting," said Blossom guardedly, "but I'm not going to stoop to such… well, evil levels!"

_Wasn't that what you did when you came here? _asked Mojo silently, pulling a book from the nearest pile and holding it enticingly in front of her. "Come on, I know you want it."

Despite every moral nerve in her body telling her that this was wrong, Blossom couldn't help but be allured by the book and what it had to offer. She took it from Mojo's hands, her eyes wide with wonder.

Wonderment—it was a rare feeling for Blossom to experience, and Mojo knew this as well as she did. His own heart swelled with joy as he watched his beautiful Powerpuff Girl gaze at her ticket to more of what she loved, the knowledge of something new. She was so rarely happy, which made her happiness even more of a marvel to Mojo—and while he was not one to subscribe to the silly romantic notions of humans, it was still strangely marvelous to know that it was thanks to _him _that she was feeling this joy.

Strange… as much as he had loved hurting her, he loved making her happy almost more.

Blossom looked up at Mojo and smiled. "What's this? I'm falling into evil, while you're falling into good? Looks like we're both working our charms on each other." How odd, she couldn't help but marvel to herself. They were acting like those happy lovers she's often see in movies, laughing and joking with each other, despite how rough he had been with her last night. It made no sense… but what did anymore?

Actually, Mojo reflected to himself, the recent proceedings of their relationship made a lot of sense. After all, both he and Blossom were egotistical, arrogant, self-centered, narcissistic, and in short thought highly of themselves; and the characteristics that Mojo loved about himself, and that Blossom loved about herself, were shared by the two of them, so why _wouldn't _their love for each other win out over their hatred?

"I'm almost getting more knowledge without having to read any books," said Blossom.

Mojo smiled. "But you _still _want to read the book."

Blossom hesitated for a moment. Reading a book about evil _seemed _like it was a bad thing… but how could someone be good if they didn't know what evil was? You can't have the good without the bad…

"…and you can't be the best superhero you can be if you don't know evil as well as you know good," Mojo finished for her.

Blossom grinned. "That's good enough for me."

…

Blossom learned more that day than she had learned during her past five years of school. Mojo was right—she would never have been allowed _near _the books he had, let alone allowed to read them. As she read, she jogged Mojo's memory, and he would be reminded of how he had implemented the evil schemes that she read about.

Experiencing Mojo's memories was an amazing new experience to Blossom—for she, for the first time in her life, finally found out what most people's memories were like. Her own memories were as crisp and clear as if she was constantly experiencing them, but Mojo's were faded, missing a few pieces, a kind of blur of the highlights of the events remembered. They intrigued her, they made her wish that she could have imperfect memories, memories that left blanks to fill—or to leave blank, if one so desired.

"But _your _memory intrigues _me, _Blossom," said Mojo.

Blossom looked up from the book she was reading—she was on her fourth, a totally illegal book explaining just how to make deadly explosives. The book chilled her—and it chilled her that Mojo would have a book like that in the first place—but it was new knowledge, and Blossom was eating it up like raspberry pie.

"If only I had had that ability," Mojo continued, looking wistfully off into space, "that ability to analyze my plans and discover just _where _and _how _I faltered, being able to replay everything exactly as it happened!"

"It's not all it's cracked up to be," muttered Blossom.

"Yes, I know," said Mojo softly. "I have—"

"—known and lived with everything that I've gone through these past six years, I know," finished Blossom. "You can stop telling me."

Mojo smiled at her. "I thought that you _like _it when I am needlessly and redundantly repetitive and repeat myself needlessly."

"The first three or so times, yes. But after that it just gets old."

"I suppose that you are right… on both accounts," said Mojo. "With your memory, many things have grown mundane and dull for you, and thus you lose your appreciation for those things in the first place, including things you find humorous. Explaining, of course, another reason why you came here—you longed for a new experience."

"True," said Blossom, wondering why they were still bothering talking to each other.

Mojo hesitated at that, for he knew exactly why _he _still wanted to keep up conversations with her. The more he focused on talking, the less chance random, unguarded thoughts had a chance of reaching Blossom's own mind. He had, of course, grown accustomed to partaking in _her _thoughts, but the loss of his _own _privacy was taking a _lot _of getting used to.

Blossom grinned. _Because then I know your every inhibition, and know you as the way you truly are? It IS a scary thought, isn't it?  
_

_Hey, I have known your every inhibition for—_

—_six years. Yeah, I know. I got that the first time, remember?_

_You and your sarcasm, you think it makes you so humorous!… Well, in a way it does, but still…_

Blossom scooted closer to Mojo, setting the book aside and focusing all her attention on him. Her thoughts were no longer in words, but she knew _exactly _what she wanted from him.

"I think… I think I'm done studying for now."

It was Mojo's turn to look shocked. He, of course, knew exactly how Blossom felt for him, but still, how could she be looking at him the same way she had last night, with those wide pleading eyes—even after what he had done to her!

_But it's not the same,_ thought Blossom as she moved even closer to Mojo, who was still gaping at her with large, surprised eyes. _I want it to be different this time. Please, Mojo… please be gentle with me… I don't want to be hurt again…_

She was pleading… pleading! Mojo's limbs were frozen as Blossom reached out and stroked his face. _How can I say no to that face… wait a minute, Blossom, you most certainly are not as weak and helpless as you are acting now! You are NEVER helpless! You are simply playing with me to get what you want!_

_And it's working. _Blossom smirked smugly. _I know you can't say no to me…_

_Why are you…_

"_Please,_ Mojo," whispered Blossom aloud, leaning in close to his ear. She smiled inwardly as she felt him shiver beneath her. "Please be gentle with me this time… _please…"_

Finally Mojo was able to move. He took Blossom's hand in his own. Blossom let out a small, pleased sigh, feeling his surrender to her. Truthfully, she was as nervous as he was right then—but it didn't matter, she would _make _it special this time—she would _show _him how grateful she was for all his help—

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.

"Curses," muttered both Blossom and Mojo. They exchanged exasperated glances.

"I will answer the knocking at the door and ask the knocker who knocked on my door for what reason they knocked," sighed Mojo, gently sliding Blossom off of him and leaving the room.

Blossom grabbed the book again, growling to herself in irritation. Damn interruption anyway… it took a long time to build that mood up!

…

Bubbles and Buttercup wasted no time, and before they knew it they were at Mojo's old, familiar volcano-top observatory. Buttercup immediately headed straight for the door, but Bubbles held her back.

"Buttercup, let me handle this," she said.

Buttercup growled dangerously. "What do you mean, you'll handle this?"

"Remember how you overreacted at Chris's?" said Bubbles sternly. "And that was a false alarm anyway!"

"Like this probably will be," said Buttercup stubbornly. "Fine then, _you _knock."

"I will," said Bubbles, glaring at Buttercup. She took a step forward and knocked three times.

"There won't be any answer," said Buttercup. "He probably died _years _ago."

"Maybe he did," said Bubbles. "But maybe he didn't. We'll find out soon enough."

They stood waiting for about three more seconds.

"'Up, there's no answer!" said Buttercup quickly. "He's dead. Let's go home."

"You need to wait longer than—"

The door suddenly opened, cutting Bubbles off. She and Buttercup gasped. Mojo looked rather shocked himself.

"Well, _this _is unexpected," he finally said.

Bubbles trembled, searching for the courage to speak. When they had been younger, back when Bubbles was just a little baby—well, Buttercup liked to say she still _was _a baby—no villain had frightened her as much as Mojo Jojo. Sure, Him had been terrifying, and Bubbles very rightly feared him. But what made Him different from Mojo was that Him just seemed to be evil just because he enjoyed it, while Mojo's desire to be evil was more driven, with a real purpose behind it. Ever since Bubbles discovered that he had been mutated thanks to the creation of the Girls, she had pitied him. She pitied her creator, her would-be destroyer, her one-time friend, a very, _very _long time ago.

She pitied him right then, looking upon him, and she also felt the old fear rise again. She was now taller than him, actually, and Mojo had noticeably aged, but Bubbles could tell that he was still powerful—he was still Mojo Jojo. And she was still scared of him.

"Uh, I'm sorry to bother you, Mojo," she finally said, in her super-polite voice, "but Buttercup and I were looking for our sister, and we thought—"

"Yes, yes, she's coming," interrupted Mojo impatiently.

Bubbles blinked. "She is?"

"Yes, and she should be—"

"_Buttercup! Bubbles!"_

"Blossom!" gasped Bubbles, as her sister crushed her with a hug. Bubbles managed to return it, nearly crying at her thanks for finding Blossom safe and unharmed, but still her mind wondered at how Blossom had known they were there, and how Mojo had known that she knew—he hadn't turned around and looked back in his house! Maybe he heard her?

Blossom let go of Bubbles and hugged Buttercup. "How on Earth did you girls know I was here?" she asked.

"Never mind that—how did you know we were coming?" asked a dumbfounded Buttercup.

"Come on, answer my question first—I asked first!"

Buttercup scowled. "I will, once we get some privacy!" She glared at Mojo, making it clear what she meant.

Blossom sighed and gave Mojo a look of her own, but Bubbles couldn't interpret exactly what it meant. Mojo obviously could, however, for he turned and went inside, closing the door behind him.

"It really doesn't matter, he'll hear everything we say anyway," said Blossom, shrugging apologetically.

"How?" cried Buttercup. "How will he—how did you know we were coming—_why _did you go to Mojo's in the first place—"

"I'll answer all of that, I promise," said Blossom quickly, "but you have to answer my question first. Why did you come looking for me here? I mean, if I were in your shoes, Mojo's would be about the last place I'd look."

"It was something the Professor said," said Bubbles. "Something about… a balance, and things being split…"

"He said that when we were created, we should have been one, but we were all split," Buttercup said, filling in for Bubbles. "Me and Bubbles are physically perfect, while you and Mojo are mentally perfect."

"That's what Mojo was saying!" said Blossom, her eyes growing wide. "At least about us. But with you girls…"

"He's right, too," said Bubbles. "The Professor, that is. Me and Buttercup can feel each other's pain!"

"Yeah…" said Blossom thoughtfully. "Wow, how did I never notice that before? You girls were always hurting at the same time! It's true!"

"And Bubbles had to prove it by stuffing her mouth full of the Professor's peppers," muttered Buttercup. "My mouth is still scorched."

"What did the Professor say about Mojo and me?" Blossom asked softly.

Buttercup shrugged, looking irritated. "The same thing that happened to me and Bubbles happened to you and Mojo—what should have been one was split into two! You got the 'I must always do exactly what I'm told!' mentality, while Mojo got the 'Rowr I'm evil!' mentality! They've both needed _together _for absolute perfection—"

"—but we were split, and we're both imperfect," finished Blossom sadly.

"We're _all _imperfect—all four of us," said Bubbles quietly. "Right? I mean, if all four of us were one being we'd be perfect…"

"My God," whispered Blossom, pacing up and down in front of the door. "I can't believe I never thought of all of this before! Neither can Mojo, for that matter."

"How do you know what Mojo's thinking at this very moment?" snapped Buttercup.

Blossom sighed. "Well, I did promise you that I'd tell you. You said that the Professor said that Mojo and I were the mental side of things—and we really _do _share the same mind, basically."

"You have telepathy?" asked Bubbles, confused.

"It's far more than telepathy," sighed Blossom, suddenly looking very old. Bubbles gulped. "We know each other's thoughts, every single one of them. I only just learned how, but Mojo's known mine for six years now. Can you imagine, you guys? For six years now I've had no privacy at all, even when I thought I did."

"What a bastard," growled Buttercup.

"He can't help it," said Blossom. "Neither can I. Now that we've learned, it's like a radio station that I can't possibly tune out—and it's the same with him. We really _do _have the same mind, in a lot of ways."

"This is… confusing," murmured Bubbles.

"It's more than that!" cried Buttercup. "It's _crazy! _Blossom, you just said that you only just learned how to read Mojo's thoughts—so why did you run away here in the _first _place?"

Blossom sighed again, flopping against the wall and sliding into a sitting position. "I was hoping you wouldn't ask that," she muttered.

"What's the matter, Blossom?" asked Bubbles, sitting next to her and putting her arm around her shoulder. "Why don't you want to tell?"

"Because… because I've been keeping a really terrible secret from you girls practically our entire lives," said Blossom. "I…"

"You what?" asked Buttercup, also sounding concerned.

Blossom gulped. "Girls, I've been in love with Mojo basically ever since we first met him."

Bubbles and Buttercup stared in stunned silence.

If there was one thing Bubbles prided herself on, it was intuitively knowing what people were feeling. She had known, for instance, that Blossom had had a crush on Chris before she had ever really said anything to Bubbles. It was how she had known that Buttercup had been hiding her fears from her during their searches for Blossom, how she had known that Chris was telling the truth when he said he didn't know where Blossom was. The question on her mind, then, wasn't "How could someone like Blossom love someone like Mojo?"—because that actually _did _make sense—but rather, "How could I not have known?"

"Our entire lives?" she finally asked softly.

"Yeah, pretty much," said Blossom. "It was kinda like when you had that crush on Ace, Buttercup. I was totally enraptured like the five-year-old I was, and when we found out he was just using us, I was so completely heartbroken—"

"—but you never got over him," finished Buttercup. "You're as bad as Bubbles, Blossom! Except you're _worse! _I mean—this is Mojo Jojo you're talking about!"

"I know!" snapped Blossom angrily. "Don't you think I've been telling myself that for these past ten years? It's insane. I'm insane. I hoped that as I grew up I would grow out of it, but every time I saw him, every time I even just thought of him, all those things he'd say and do to Townsville, to us, to _me_… I hated him for them, and I hated myself for them, because I just kept falling more and more in love with him."

Buttercup stared at Blossom, dumbfounded. "But… he's… he's _Mojo…"_

"I know he is," murmured Blossom. "That's why I love him."

Having nothing to say to that, Buttercup sat on the other side of Blossom and put her arm around her shoulder. The three Powerpuff Girls looked off into the distance for a few moments, saying nothing.

"I'm sorry I kept it a secret from you girls this whole time," Blossom finally said. "But, truthfully, I was lying to myself as well… I was trying to convince myself that there was nothing there for me to love anymore, even though I…"

"It's okay, Blossom," said Bubbles. "Don't apologize. I would have kept it a secret too, if it was me."

"You're not mad?" Blossom asked. "You don't think I'm… a freak for this?"

Buttercup forced out a laugh. "Blossom, I've _always _thought you were a freak."

Blossom and Bubbles laughed too, relieving a bit of the tension.

There was a small silence as the girls continued to gaze out over their beloved city.

"When are you coming back home?" Buttercup finally asked.

Blossom looked down at the ground. "I don't know if—"

"You've got to come back!" Buttercup interrupted. "We can't function without you, Blossom. We're a team, and—"

"You two are more than capable of handling things without me," said Blossom. "In fact… with the way I've been acting, you're better off without me."

"Don't say that!" cried Bubbles.

"Blossom, I'm not the leader that you are," said Buttercup, sadly but sincerely. "I've realized that now. I can't fight crime without you."

"You're going to have to eventually anyway," said Blossom softly, "even if I _do _come back."

"What is _that _supposed to mean?"

"You saw how much Mojo's aged," sighed Blossom. "He won't live much longer… and when he dies, I'll likely die too, since we have the same mind… and almost the same body, even."

"But…" whispered Bubbles, not wanting to believe what she somehow knew was true.

"Don't be so morbid," said Buttercup fiercely. "Sure, so he's older… but he seemed healthy enough—he's not going to shove off tomorrow!"

"Maybe not tomorrow, but at the rate he's aged already… I'd be surprised if we last another year, I really would…" Blossom lifted her face and looked straight upwards again, but it seemed she wasn't focusing on anything in particular.

"Aren't you scared?" asked Bubbles in a hushed, frightened tone.

Blossom looked at Bubbles and shrugged. "Yeah, but what can I do? Being scared won't save me. It won't make death any easier."

"You can't die yet," said Buttercup. She sounded detached, as if she were talking to herself. "You're only fifteen. You _can't _die."

"I've been near death before, and I was only eight," Blossom reminded them gently.

"But Blossom…" Bubbles hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. "If you really _are _going to… you know… soon, then that's all the more reason for you to come home! You should spend your last days with family, not with…" She stopped, realizing that to finish the sentence, she would force Blossom to choose between her family and the person she loved.

"Girls, I can't spend the rest of my life moping around the house and complaining how much my life sucks!" cried Blossom, standing up again with resolution. "I'm actually _happy _here. I'm learning things I never knew. I was right—only Mojo can give me what I want—knowledge beyond what anyone else has!"

"But we're sad without you," said Bubbles simply.

Blossom sighed and looked at the silently pleading faces of both Bubbles and Buttercup. "I might come home," she finally relented. "But not yet. Not until I feel like I can be a productive member of society again."

There was another silence… broken by Buttercup's sharp laughter.

"What's so funny?" demanded Blossom.

"It's just _ridiculous," _chortled Buttercup. "You say you want to be more productive—and that _Mojo's _helping you become more productive. I mean, I understand why, but it just sounds so silly!"

Bubbles giggled, and Blossom cracked a smile.

"Is the Professor worried about me?" she asked, her face serious again.

"Duh," said Buttercup.

"Yeah, he really is, Blossom," said Bubbles.

"Tell him I'm safe, will you? Tell him I'm safe and I'm happy and I love him. I love you girls too." Blossom gave her sisters another hug, one with each arm.

"Is this our cue to exit?" Buttercup asked, forcing a small smile.

"I know you want to help me, but there's nothing you can do," said Blossom softly.

"We love you too, Blossom," whispered Bubbles, returning Blossom's hug tightly.

Blossom smiled at Bubbles, then turned to Buttercup. Buttercup's checks flushed a slight pink, and then she said, abashedly, "What she said."

Bubbles grinned. Buttercup had always had trouble with "the L word".

"Don't worry about me, girls," said Blossom. "I'm fine. And you will be too. Both of you are great crimefighters in your own right."

"Are you _sure_ you're fine?" Buttercup demanded. "I mean, you look… you look pretty battered, and I know that could be because of the fight with the Rowdyruff Boys from a few days ago, but… come on, I know Mojo! You just show up at his doorstep—hasn't he wanted to _hurt_ you?"

Blossom looked down at the ground. "Well… yes…"

"_Has_ he?" Bubbles asked.

"She's a Powerpuff Girl," said Buttercup. "She wouldn't let someone hurt her without—"

"He has hurt me," Blossom whispered.

"—kicking his butt… He's hurt you? That son of a bitch!" Buttercup shot a glance at Bubbles. "Come on, let's kick his butt!"

"No!" screamed Blossom. "Don't! It's alright, because we feel each other's pain, so when he hurts me he hurts himself just as bad."

"Hold the phone," said Buttercup, cutting Blossom off. "You and Mojo are supposed to have a _mental _connection, not a _physical _one. How can you feel each other's pain?"

"You feel pain through your neurons, which are part of the nervous system," said Blossom. "It stands to reason that if we share the same brain, we'd feel each other's pain." She paused, rubbing her chin in a thoughtful manner. "If you girls have a physical connection, then you might have a bit of a mental connection too. Maybe you have telepathy."

Bubbles and Buttercup stared at each other.

_Telepathy? _Bubbles thought, directing her thought towards Buttercup.

_You don't think… _Buttercup thought.

"Well?" Blossom asked.

"I think maybe we need to look into this further," Buttercup said aloud.

"Yeah… that was freaky," said Bubbles.

Blossom smiled at them. "You go do that then. Imagine how effective crimefighters you'd be if you had telepathy! No one would know your next move because you'd give your instructions to each other _silently! _This is amazing. See, you girls don't need me."

"But you are a big help," said Bubbles.

Buttercup smiled at Bubbles and took her hand. "Come on, Bubbles, let's go home." She turned to Blossom, still smiling. "See you later, sis."

Blossom returned the smile as her sisters soared back home in a streak of blue and green, then hovered back into the observatory.

"This is _astounding!" _Mojo was saying to himself, pacing back and forth in the atrium. He seemed to be speaking to Blossom, but he wasn't looking at her. "Your sisters share a bond similar to ours! Imagine how strong the four of us will be as a team!"

"What?" asked Blossom.

Mojo froze in his tracks and stared at Blossom. "Heh, heh… whoops."

"What's going on?" asked Blossom, her confusion accentuated by her growing anger. It felt that Mojo was hiding something from her—but he _couldn't _anymore! She knew his every thought—just as he knew hers!

"Sometimes I do slip up," sighed Mojo.

"Slip up on _what?"_

"I had long anticipated that one day you would finally relent and come to me, and thus you would learn of our connection, and so I have long been practicing on keeping some of my own thoughts from cropping up in my own mind, so as to be able to keep some things hidden from you as well."

Silence.

"It's harder than it sounds!" said Mojo, smiling in a sort of embarrassed manner.

"You… you've been keeping _secrets _from me all day?" Blossom finally shrieked.

"Hush, all in good time, my dear!" said Mojo quickly, still uncharacteristically smiling nervously. "I did not intend to keep secrets from you for long… I just needed the right time to explain certain things to you, so that—"

"_What things?" _Blossom was having to hold herself back from socking Mojo right then and there—she could feel that he was nervous and hiding something, but she couldn't figure out _what! _

"Calm down, calm down!" Mojo made a downward motion with his hands to shush her, but both the tone of his voice and his smile were growing in confidence. "I intended to relate my master plan to you after you were finished with the evilness training, but you have been progressing so rapidly that I may as well—"

"Evilness training? I didn't come here to become evil, Mojo! I came here to learn new things, that's all!"

"And new things to you would be the teachings of evil!" cried Mojo dramatically, spreading his arms wide in the air. "Don't you see, Blossom? Together the two of us could easily take over the world! But I would need your help in dealing with your sisters. You must either convince them to join our side—or assist me in destroying them! Although, with their physical powers, I hope that you choose the former—"

BAM!

Blossom's punch, as usual, sent Mojo flying, but this time it nearly knocked Blossom out as well. She stumbled backwards from the pain that she had unintentionally brought upon herself, but still managed to glare at an equally pained Mojo. "I'm not on your side," she hissed. "I am not going to help you take over the world, and I never will! And I will _never _turn on my sisters!"

Mojo slowly climbed to his feet, glaring, his anger even stronger than Blossom's. So strong, in fact, that he was unable to hide any thoughts from Blossom any longer—and those hidden thoughts hit Blossom almost like a ton of bricks.

He was far more brilliant than Blossom had ever realized…

…and he was…

"You're psychotic," whispered Blossom fearfully.

She took a terrified step back as she attempted to sort through all the new emotions she was receiving, but her fear only grew the more she finally understood what was truly going through Mojo's mind—and what he had been doing all along.

"You were—you were—you were leading me along!" Blossom stuttered. "You catered to me, you made love to me, you taught me, just so I'd do whatever you want me to! But I won't!" Blossom's voice growled hoarsely with rage. "I won't."

"How _dare _you speak to Mojo Jojo in such a manner!" roared Mojo. "After all I've done for you!" In an instant he was in her face and roughly grabbing her shoulders. Blossom instinctively jerked up her knee, hitting Mojo squarely in the crotch.

Mojo squeaked out in pain and dropped Blossom, but Blossom was too hurt to appreciate her victory. Oh… so _that's _what getting hit in the balls felt like.

"This is ridiculous," Blossom gasped. "I can't fight you."

Mojo said nothing and thought nothing in words, he simply stared at Blossom, seething with rage. Finally, one fleeting thought passed through their minds—

_How DARE she destroy my dreams?_

"Your _dreams?" _Blossom exploded. "All you can think about is taking over the world? What about what you've done to _me? _You just wanted to _use _me to get what you wanted!"

"You _always _have gotten whatever you wanted, while I sat here and got nothing! You _owe _me, Blossom!"

"Bubbles and Buttercup were right," said Blossom. "I should go home."

Mojo's rage overtook him again. With sudden, unexpected force, he pinned Blossom to the floor. "This _is _your home now!" he cried. "This _is _your abode, your place of dwelling, your residence, and where you rest your feet, for you are _mine!"_

"I'm not yours!" screamed Blossom.

"Oh yes you are," said Mojo darkly, his eyes narrowing in a slightly more composed manner—in a rather alluring manner, truthfully.

"That's not going to work," hissed Blossom. "You're not going to seduce me again. You're certifiably insane, Mojo. You think I'm your property because I've been living here for all of four days, and you explode at me when I suggest leaving. You're _insane _and I'm not staying here any longer."

"You foolish girl," said Mojo. "Despite all that, you _still _love me."

"If it weren't for my perfect memory, I wouldn't still love you!" snapped Blossom.

"And if it weren't for the fact I have known your thoughts for the past six years, I would have never loved you in the _first _place!" Mojo shot back.

"Stop lying," hissed Blossom.

Mojo smiled _that _smile again. "I will when you will."

Blossom yelled in rage, although this time her rage was directed at none other than herself. "What the hell is happening to me?"

Mojo let go of Blossom. "I'd say that you're in love, but that is obvious…"

"Why did this have to happen to me?" Blossom whimpered. "Oh, dammit, I'm going emo again…" She looked at Mojo helplessly. "I need a break from you, Mojo…"

Mojo snorted. "As if _that _will ever happen—with our mental connection, along with the desire you still have to be with me and understand me—"

"Oh, it will happen," said Blossom firmly.

Realizing what Blossom was planning on trying, Mojo laughed rudely. "You actually think that you can block me out of your mind? Just because I can hide some of my thoughts from you does not mean that you will be able to put up a total barrier between our minds, for they are nearly one by now! Give up, Blossom, you will _never _escape me, and it is for _this _reason that I say that you are my—"

Mojo stopped. Gasped. Stared at Blossom, a mixture of impressed and enraged.

And Blossom smiled smugly, enjoying the relative silence of merely her own thoughts in her head.

"You—how—Blossom—_STOP THIS NONSENSICAL NONSENSE RIGHT NOW!" _Mojo erupted.

"Now that our heads are a little clearer, Mojo, I think we'd better have a talk, a reasonable talk where we don't know what the other is going to say before they say it," said Blossom, working hard to keep her emotions under control. Keeping her mind separate from Mojo's, she was quickly discovering, took a lot of concentrated effort—she had to _focus _on blocking him out from her, and vice versa. "I plan on staying here, Mojo, only as long as I feel safe—and if it weren't for my superpowers, I would have been out of here before you even _thought _about hurting me. As you reminded me the other day, _I _am _your _guest, and thus I am under no obligation to stay. Are you with me so far?"

Mojo nodded dumbly.

"In the future, it would be wise to remember that I have superpowers, and you don't," Blossom continued firmly. "And yes, I am aware that you are strong, and that you have on occasion overpowered me, but those were the exceptions, not the rule." She took a deep breath before continuing on. "Next, I should make it quite clear that, no matter how much I may have changed during my short time with you, I will _never _partake in any of your evil schemes. Learn about them, yes. But should you attempt to return to your super-villain days, I will _not _assist you, and in fact, I will try to _stop _you. I'm still a Powerpuff Girl. I still have my morals. I'm still a separate being from you, Mojo. I'm _not _your property. I'm _not _your lackey. Don't think that just because I love you I'll do anything you ask, because I _won't._ Got it?"

She got no answer. Mojo just stared at her, with an unreadable expression.

"Answer me, Mojo."

"Yes," Mojo finally said, in a bitter, defeated tone. "I 'get it'."

"Now…" Blossom gulped, knowing that this would be hard to get out, "seeing as I _do _plan on staying with you for at least a little longer, I would like for our further interactions to go a little smoother than they have been. For one thing, both of us should stop blaming each other and competing with each other over who has it worse. Let's face it, we're both royally messed up and we've both hurt each other on so many occasions that keeping tally by now is pretty pointless. Besides…" She sighed. "I know you still love me. Maybe we should focus on our _love _for each other, rather than our hatred. Goodness knows that the hatred has made up most of our contact for these past ten years."

"I wish…" Mojo's voice drifted off, almost lazily, before he continued. "I wish you were different and not so marvelous… I wish I _didn't _love you."

"I wish I didn't love you either," sighed Blossom. "And I wish I could forget things. And there are days I wish I didn't have superpowers. And there are days, like today, where I wish I was dead."

"That will come soon enough," murmured Mojo.

"I… I need some time alone," said Blossom.

Mojo stared at her. "What, are you asking my _permission? _Go ahead. It is obvious I cannot control you anymore," he said darkly.

Blossom turned around and floated to the guest room—now very much _her _room—feeling Mojo watching her the entire time. However, for the first time that day, she didn't know exactly what he was thinking as he watched her leave.

Although, by now she felt that she could pretty well guess on her own.


	7. Walking in the Air

"Do you think we actually have telepathy?"

Bubbles's question cut into Buttercup's dark thoughts. Buttercup had been leading the way back home, but slowly, wondering how on Earth they were going to tell the Professor… that Blossom wanted to stay with Mojo, that she seemed to think she wasn't going to live much longer…

Getting no immediate answer from her sister, Bubbles continued. "I mean, maybe we should test it… right now, up in the air, with no distractions…"

Buttercup sighed. "Fine."

"Are you going to insist that we don't have telepathy until we prove it, or have you given up?" asked Bubbles, cracking a small smile.

"Well, all my denial has been false up 'til now, so why should I even bother?" An unguarded smile appeared on Buttercup's face as well. "Besides, I actually _have _sometimes felt like I can hear your thoughts."

"Alright, then," said Bubbles cheerfully. "Let's try it!"

The two girls were silent for a few moments.

"I don't hear anything," said Buttercup.

"I guess we don't," said Bubbles, frowning. "Blossom said that with her and Mojo, it was like a radio station that she couldn't tune out—"

"But wait," Buttercup interrupted. "Remember what the Professor said? Blossom _got stuck between us. _That means that, if _we_ have telepathy, it probably won't be as strong as Blossom's and Mojo's."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Blossom made it sound like she couldn't control it. But maybe we can. Maybe we have to _purposely_ send thoughts to each other. Like email, or something."

Bubbles shrugged. "We could try again…"

"Alright," said Buttercup. "I'm going to think of something totally random and off-the-wall, and think it at you, and you say aloud what it is."

Bubbles nodded. "Okay."

Buttercup closed her eyes, trying to think of the most random, crazy thing she could—something that Bubbles could never guess. That meant that it couldn't be something that either she or Bubbles particularly loved, nor something that they really hated, because due to reverse psychology, she'd probably expect something like that too.

So then, she just shrugged, and thought, "directing" the thought to Bubbles, _Thomas Jefferson._

Bubbles gasped. "I heard it!" she cried. "In my head—I heard—well, not exactly heard—but you thought 'Thomas Jefferson' and I understood!"

"Your turn! I wanna see if I can hear it too!" cried Buttercup, although she already had a feeling that the answer was most likely "yes".

Bubbles squinted her eyes shut, deep in thought. Buttercup snorted to herself. As if that would help her think—wait a minute, _she _had just done that while trying to think of "Thomas Jefferson". Okay, so never mind.

_John Adams._

"Whoa!" cried Buttercup. "That was—weird! It was like I heard you say 'John Adams', and yet I didn't _hear _anything." She raised an eyebrow. "John Adams? That's not very creative. You just picked another president."

"But it worked!" cried Bubbles. "We have…"

"…telepathy," Buttercup finished.

_Blossom's right, _thought Bubbles. _This will really help with crimefighting. No one will know how we're planning on attacking!_

_We'd better tell the Professor, _thought Buttercup. _Come on, we're nearly home._

Kicking it into overdrive, the girls made it back home in less than two seconds. "Professor?" Buttercup called as she opened the door and hovered inside, Bubbles close behind.

The Professor, who had been sitting numbly on the couch, jumped to his feet as soon as the girls came in. "Girls! Did you…" His face fell. "Was Blossom…"

Dammit. The Professor's expression of growing despair was paining Buttercup almost as much as Bubbles's peppers had. It was obvious that he had been hoping the girls would bring Blossom back home.

"Professor, you were absolutely right," Buttercup sighed. "Blossom _was _at Mojo's."

The Professor sank back down on the couch, looking about twenty years older. Buttercup gulped at the sight. "Is she alright?" he asked weakly.

"She's happy—happier than she usually is, anyway," said Bubbles quietly, looking down at the ground.

"Has Mojo hurt her?"

Bubbles and Buttercup looked at each other nervously. _Should we tell him? _Bubbles asked.

_I'll leave that answer up to you, Bubbles, _thought Buttercup.

"Yeah, a little," Bubbles finally whispered.

"But Blossom says that's alright," said Buttercup quickly. "She and Mojo share the same mind, and they can feel each other's pain too, so when he hurts Blossom he hurts himself… I guess that makes Blossom feel that they're even," she finished with a weak shrug.

"And she… wants to stay?" the Professor asked.

"Yeah… she says she's learning new things," said Buttercup. "And you know how important learning is to her."

"Besides," said Bubbles, "Blossom's in l—" She cut herself off in horror.

"_Bubbles!" _hissed Buttercup.

"What?" asked the Professor frantically.

Bubbles sighed. "Professor, Blossom's in love with Mojo!"

Buttercup felt a sickening feeling in her stomach as the Professor processed _that _new bit of information. He looked horrified. Shocked. Saddened. And, strangely, almost accepting.

"I guess I should have seen that coming," he murmured. "They have that mental connection… and besides, for some reason, evil holds a strange allure to teenagers, especially knowledge-hungry ones like Blossom." He looked at Bubbles and Buttercup helplessly. "Now I know how those parents feel when their child runs off with the bad kid. I never thought it would happen to me… well, if it did, I would have thought…" He fell silent.

"You would have thought _I'd _be the rebel running off with the bad kid," Buttercup finished, her voice emotionless.

The Professor said nothing, simply burying his face in his hands.

"It's okay, Professor," said Bubbles, sitting next to her father and hugging him gently. "It's okay. She's okay. She said she might come back home someday soon, as soon as she's learned enough. It's okay, Professor."

Thank God for Bubbles, Buttercup marveled to herself. Sweet, caring Bubbles could comfort anyone.

"I feel like such an inadequate parent…"

"No, you're not, Dad," said Bubbles, hugging the Professor tightly. "You're a great parent."

"Yeah… you're our _parent," _said Buttercup slowly. "Bubbles and I couldn't get Blossom to come back…"

The Professor and Bubbles looked up at her, confused.

"…but maybe you could, Professor," finished Buttercup. "She'd listen to you. She considers you authority."

"Yeah," said Bubbles in realization. "If you went and talked to her and told her to come home, then I'm sure she would!"

There was silence as the Professor looked between Bubbles and Buttercup, deep in thought… but then, his eyes closed in sadness.

"No, girls. I couldn't do that."

"Why the hell not?" cried Buttercup. "She'd listen to you! Besides, she _needs _to be here—"

"Only Blossom knows what's best for her right now. She's mature, she's responsible, and I can't make decisions for her anymore… this is her choice, not mine," he finished, his voice finally breaking.

Bubbles burst into tears at this, hugging the Professor even tighter. Buttercup swallowed at the sight, feeling her face burn with unshed tears herself. Sweet, sensitive Bubbles still couldn't grasp the idea of living without her dear sister. And the Professor? Buttercup felt the most sorry for him. How hard was it to accept that your child is a grown-up and let her make choices for herself, despite the fact that you know that what she's doing is wrong? Especially considering that Blossom…

…thought she was going to die soon…

Buttercup bit her lip. _Bubbles, are you going to tell him about… well, how she thinks that she's not going to live much longer?_

_No, _thought Bubbles fiercely. _The Professor's upset enough as it is._

_I guess he'll find out eventually, _thought Buttercup sadly.

Bubbles said nor thought nothing to that, but she did shoot a glare at Buttercup.

Buttercup couldn't help but smirk. _Now look at who's in denial._

…

Blossom hated crying, and she hated how much crying she had done during the past few months, but she forced the tears out anyway. Holding them in was like stuffing too much in an egg roll—it would eventually burst and make a soggy, ugly mess everywhere. Crying forced her to admit that she wasn't in control of the situation, forced her to admit that she was upset, but at least that was better than exploding from all the emotions.

But, oh God, it hurt to cry. It hurt to force those tears out of her eyes; it hurt to admit that her plans were _not _working out like they should have.

Perhaps she shouldhave been angry at Mojo for plotting those things behind her back this entire time, but all she could do was berate herself. How absolutely _stupid _of her! She thought she could trust him—but he had been the one who had shattered her trust in the _first _place! Of _course _he would have been planning for Blossom's arrival all these years…

She had always known Mojo was insane, but actually experiencing just _how _messed up he was had been terrifying. She had felt his crazed anger, his irrational conclusions… but, and perhaps what scared Blossom the most, she had realized that he had _never _lied to her these past few days. Not let her know certain things, yes. But everything that he said to her had been true, and, underneath the underhanded manipulation of Blossom, he still _did _love her and want to see her happy, for her sake as much as his.

Blossom couldn't really stop loving him for that. He was experiencing the exact same conflicting emotions that she had had for ten years.

Those emotions were clawing at her brain, and it was all Blossom could do to keep that barrier between their minds up. It was like making herself hold her breath, and it was almost as hard to keep up for extended periods of time. She had to continuously _focus _on keeping their minds separate from each other, otherwise her mind would automatically snap back to being one with Mojo's again—as it should have been from the beginning.

She had been in her room for hours, crying, pacing, and wondering if she should stay or not. But in the end, there really wasn't much of a choice to make—she _had _to finish what she'd begun.

She flew out of her room and to the living room, looking for Mojo, still focusing on keeping her mind separate from his. She wanted to be able to talk to him the way she chose, not accompanied by a tumble of unguarded emotions.

He was there, looking out of the oval windows. It was nighttime and snow was falling outside. That was a bit of a surprise for Blossom. Had she really been in her room _that _long?

She had flown in quietly, and thus Mojo had no clue that she was even there, which was certainly a first. Instead of speaking, Blossom took advantage of the moment, and simply watched Mojo looking out over Townsville. It was haunting, and Blossom felt herself shiver.

"Mojo," she finally said softly, as to not startle him.

"AAAAHHH!" Mojo screamed in a rather high-pitched voice, jumping back about a foot and nearly tripping and falling over his cape. Taking in a few deep breaths to calm himself, he spun around and glared at Blossom. "Don't _do _that!"

Blossom smiled, holding in her laughter. "Sorry. Would you have preferred if I _yelled?"_

"Have you been in your room this entire time?" Mojo asked.

"Have _you_ been staring out the window this entire time?" Blossom asked.

Mojo said nothing to that, instead turning back around to the window, in a slow, pained way. It hit Blossom just how much Mojo had really aged. She had probably been far too generous when she told her sisters that they had a year to live. At the rate they were going, with the yelling and the fighting—

Was she killing him?

Blossom hovered over to Mojo's side and gazed out the window. "I've never been able to trust anyone in my life, besides my family," she said, her voice as emotionless as she could make it. "But when I thought I knew your every thought, I trusted you. But you were _still _not telling me the entire truth. I should have learned ten years ago, when you broke my trust the _first _time."

Mojo said nothing.

"I'm going to give you one more chance," said Blossom, deciding to continue despite no response from Mojo. "But if I find out that you're holding things from me again, then I will leave—and I won't let you threaten me into staying."

"Oh, so _you're _the victim here?" asked Mojo. His tone wasn't accusing; it was merely contemplative. "Sure, so I had been hoping that you would help me with my own goals, but isn't that exactly what _you _have done by coming to me? You are utilizing me as a means to reach an end, which is just what I had hoped to do. I am helping you obtain what it is you desire. But you will not return the favor."

"No, I won't."

Mojo looked up at Blossom, as she was still hovering above him. All traces of anger in his face were gone—he now looked tired, sad, and worn-down. Blossom's fear vanished.

"You do not realize how lucky you have it," said Mojo softly.

"No… I probably don't," admitted Blossom.

"You have an amazing gift, Blossom—the ability to fly. Most people on this planet would love to possess the gift of flight. But there are few people who have actually _had _that ability, then lost it, as I have."

Blossom nodded. "I remember," she said. Ah yes, that time where Mojo had guilt-tripped the Professor into giving him superpowers, so as to better take over the world. He hadn't changed much, she reflected to herself.

"I remember how wondrous it was, to soar through the air," Mojo continued, looking out the window again. "But you—you have _always _been able to fly. It is something you take for granted. It… it must be wonderful."

Blossom hovered over Mojo for a few moments.

Then, she moved to the window, opened it, and held out her hand to him.

Mojo's eyes grew wide, but they quickly darkened with cynicism. "How do I know you won't drop me?"

Blossom sighed, although it was almost with relief, and "released" her barrier between their minds. _I won't drop you, _she thought. _I just want to give you what you desire, because that's what you've been doing for me these past few days, and I haven't been very appreciative._

Their reconnection brought a flood of relief over Mojo. _Do you realize how silent my mind was without you there? After six years, I had gotten quite used to having your thoughts alongside my own, and the silence without you was maddening!_

_I didn't even think about that, _marveled Blossom. _Then again, you're mad anyway…_

Mojo smirked. _Very funny. _He took Blossom's outreached hand. _Now, do not drop me, as that would be a very long fall and cause me great bodily harm, which would hurt me and very likely kill me—_

_I said I wouldn't. _Blossom took his other hand and pulled him under her arm tightly, floated out the window, closed it behind her, and took off into the night sky.

She had never, ever flown quite like this before.

It wasn't that she flew any different from how she usually did. She flew at a moderately quick pace, zipping through the air above Townsville in about thirty seconds, which was a pretty reasonable speed. She even wasn't flying to a new location—she was heading off to the mountains of Alaska, where she had flown two years ago in heartbreak and frustration.

But Mojo had never done these things, and every sweeping sensation that he felt, Blossom felt too.

How small the people of Townsville looked from this height!

How magically the snowflakes fluttered past them as they flew!

How beautiful nature appeared below them, dotted with trees and laced with rivers!

_You're right, _thought Blossom to herself. _I DO take flying for granted._

…

"Funny that boulder's still there—and it still looks pretty much like it did two years ago. Erosion hasn't really touched it."

"There is little human activity up here," Mojo pointed out. "The erosion of the boulder of which you speak would likely be slower than boulders in more heavily-populated areas."

Blossom gazed over the ice-capped mountains, the view just the same—only darker—as it had been two years ago, when she had screamed from atop the very mountain that she and Mojo were on now. "When you have perfect memory, you notice when even the smallest things change," she said softly. "So it's always a surprise when things… remain the same, even after a long time."

"Poignant," said Mojo simply, shivering to himself.

Blossom mentally berated herself. Oh, duh. She sometimes forgot that she was more resilient to extreme climate conditions than others due to her superpowers. She was cold too, of course, but it wasn't anything unbearable…

…but Mojo was clearly freezing his tush off.

She flew behind him and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. _Body heat, _she thought softly.

The effect was instantaneous. Sure, Mojo was still pretty darn cold. But Blossom's hug was making his whole body tingle with warmth… whether that was from her body heat, or just the fact that she was holding him, he wasn't sure, but whatever the case was, it was working.

_I'm sorry I forgot, _thought Blossom. _I should have given you time to grab a coat._

_That would have been helpful, _thought Mojo, a bit sarcastically. In truth, however, he couldn't hold back the thought that was bubbling in his mind that bearing the cold had been worth it to be able to see the world like that, to fly through the air, to be held like this…

_You big softie, _thought Blossom with a smile, pulling Mojo closer to her.

"I am _not _a softie!" Mojo cried aloud. "How dare you insinuate such a thing! I am the most feared evil being this side of evil! My picture is by the word 'evil' in the dictionary! I have given evil its present meaning!"

_But you're still a softie, _Blossom thought. _An evil softie, but a softie nonetheless…_

The two remained silent for a few moments, letting their unworded thoughts pass through their connected minds without any hindrance.

_We should probably go home now, _Blossom finally thought.

…

Blossom was unable to sleep that night. Well, scratch that—_half _of her was asleep. The Mojo half. The Blossom half, however, was tossing and turning in the guest-bedroom bed, wondering why—

_Why do I feel so alone right now?_ she thought.

She was warm, she was comfortable, she was tired—falling asleep under those circumstances should have been _easy. _Blossom rarely had troubles sleeping. She loved sleeping—or more specifically, dreaming. Her dreams were fragmented and vague, and they were the only things Blossom was able to forget, the only memories she had that were incomplete.

"This is pathetic," she whispered to herself, already knowing what she was going to do. Oh, how pitiful she had become—she couldn't even fight against herself anymore. She crawled out of bed and floated out of her room, too tired to convince herself to stay where she was.

As quietly as she could manage, she creaked open the door to Mojo's room and hovered inside. Mojo was asleep—lucky bastard—and curled up under his covers.

He looked so… not exactly weak, Blossom thought, not exactly helpless… well, the way a little puppy might look. She knew how deceiving he was looking right now, for she knew perfectly well how powerful he really still was… but she ignored that right then. Enough of her life had been spent fearing Mojo, so she might as well take advantage of this quiet moment…

Mojo opened one eye slowly.

Blossom felt her cheeks redden, to her dismay. _You're probably wondering why I'm here…_

_No, I'm not… I can read your thoughts, you know. _He smiled sleepily. _Poor little Blossom, she can't sleep by herself in her big, scary room, and so she needs the big, scary monkey with her—_

_It sounds ridiculous to me too, _thought Blossom. _And what sounds even more ridiculous is that I…_

She couldn't even think the words. Her stubborn mind was still refusing to accept that, right now, despite everything he had ever done to her, she just wanted him to _hold _her, and love her, the way that people in love were _supposed _to act with each other.

_I am FAR too tired to… oh fine, get in._

_I just want you to touch me, that's all, _thought Blossom, gratefully climbing in to bed next to Mojo. _Then maybe I'll be able to sleep soundly…_

_This is pathetic, _thought Mojo dryly, slowly reaching out and touching Blossom's cheek. _Here I am, Mojo Jojo, your most feared enemy from many years ago, now reduced to accommodate and provide for your every silly whim, as if you have me wrapped around your little finger—if you had fingers, that is…_

_I know how pathetic it is, _Blossom responded. _It would be pathetic anyway, even if I needed someone other than you._

_You mean, someone who has no desire to harm you? _Mojo's hands slid down Blossom face and around her neck. _I could easily strangle you, right here, right now. _His grip tightened.

Blossom didn't flinch. _But you won't._

_I WANT to._

_But you won't._

Mojo relaxed his grip, repositioning his arms so that they were wrapped around her shoulders. Blossom, as if in response to this, gently stroked Mojo's face with her hand. Their sleepy eyes locked for a few moments.

When Blossom had been much younger, when she had read those fairy tales about handsome Prince Charmings coming to the rescue of their fair ladies, she had always fantasized about what it would be like to have a romantic relationship like that. Even when she was older, she would watch chick flicks and romantic movies, and dream—although quietly, unlike Bubbles—of the day when _she _would find someone who loved her so perfectly and wholly. That was, of course, always with the assumption that she would somehow be able to put her feelings for Mojo aside, perhaps forever… but until a couple of years ago, some foolish, optimistic streak in her believed that some day, her prince _would _come.

Things didn't always work out the way she planned, however. Usually it frustrated her—and how her romantic life was going now was so different than what she had hoped (but it was, truthfully, the only way she could have _ever _seen it happening) was more than enough to enrage her—but in a sense, parts of it _were _what she had hoped for…

Despite all the fights, accusations, and violence, there really _was _love.

It was the love of an insane, brilliant, demented, evil psychopath, yes… but… would Blossom have wanted any other kind of love?

The two of them, sleep finally overtaking them, sank down into the pillows, still gently holding each other.

"Thanks," Blossom murmured aloud, before drifting off into a peaceful slumber.


	8. Descent into Madness

"You're doing it again!"

Blossom threw down the book she was reading on the word "again", accentuating her anger. Mojo jumped back a bit automatically. It was the next day, Tuesday, and it seemed that they were already at each other's throats, only twenty minutes into Blossom's lessons.

"Doing _what?" _Mojo cried indignantly. "I am merely watching you read my evil book about evil weaponry that you have no prior knowledge of because it is evil—"

"I know what you're thinking," said Blossom. "You're still thinking that I'm going to help you take over the world! You're still thinking that you're going to convert me to evil! You can't convert me to the side of evil, any more than I can convert you to good!"

Mojo felt his blood boil. "Well, why _else _would you be reading about evil if you do not plan to _utilize _your knowledge?"

"See, you're at it again!" cried Blossom. "I _told _you that I'm _not _going to help you in any evil schemes!"

"Well then, what is the _point _of me teaching you?" snapped Mojo, forcibly kicking the book back at Blossom. It was _her _turn to jump away. "With all of the knowledge you have accumulated by now, you should be putting it to use, not uselessly learning _more _things!"

Blossom stared down at the book, her mouth agape.

Mojo's jaw slacked too, when he realized just what he had said.

"Not that I am insinuating that you should—"

"No. I should," said Blossom hollowly. "I _should _leave. You're absolutely right. I _should _be putting my knowledge to good use, not sitting around here taking crap from you."

"But—" Mojo stuttered, not able to get the words out. _But you said you'd leave only if I kept something hidden from you again! And I haven't!_

_But I also told my sisters I'd leave when I felt productive again, _thought Blossom firmly. _And now I've realized that I can't be productive here._

_No, you can't…_

"I'm leaving," said Blossom.

And suddenly, Mojo could no longer hear Blossom's thoughts.

"No—stop!" he cried. "You cannot leave! And you most _certainly _cannot separate our minds again! Blossom! **BLOSSOM!"**

Too late. Blossom had already turned and floated out of the room.

Alone, rejected, abandoned… Mojo stared at the doorway, shell-shocked.

How… how _could _she?

He had given her _everything _she wanted! Everything that she wanted and that no one else could give her! _He _had been the one that she had longed for all these years—he had known and she had unconsciously known too that, although it might take awhile, she would eventually come to him—because they were _meant _to be together! Because she still… _loved him!_

No one else ever had. Except maybe Bubbles and Buttercup, back when they had first met just your everyday, enterprising hobo Jojo. But their affections had been merely respectful admiration. No, it was Blossom who had, sweetly and innocently, given her heart to him… and he knew it, even back then.

He hadn't minded. It had worked out to his advantage. Little Blossom was willing to do _anything _he asked, and even at that early date, it was obvious that her sisters would always follow her lead.

He had always admired her mind. No doubt about that. Even before he realized that they, in fact, had more or less the same mind.

It had been odd, as a villain, to look upon his greatest enemy, the leader of his only obstacle to world domination, and feel a strange sort of respect for her.

Bubbles was just plain cute, and irritating to boot. Buttercup was too tough to win any sort of admiration. But Blossom, always the prettiest of the three girls, always the smartest, always the one to talk the most to the villains they fought, with clichéd words of justice…

He should have hated her. And he did. But there was always something else, nagging at him.

She was wondrous.

He grew to respect her even more when he knew her thoughts. She was so intelligent. She was annoyingly moral, yes. But that was admirable in its own way.

She was always outwardly confident, despite all those feelings of doubt that ran through her body.

What inward strength.

What outward strength.

And she still loved him.

Despite all the time that had passed, all that he had ever done to her.

Mojo knew all her thoughts, including this one.

It was hard to not begin to love someone under those circumstances, wouldn't you think?

Especially for someone like him. He had never been loved before! Oh no, not Mojo Jojo, the heartless, soulless villain! No, we all hate him! Crush him, beat the crap out of him, throw him in jail to rot, we don't care! Just get that ugly deformed chimp out of our sights! Oh, dear Powerpuff Girls! You know how to deal with this monstrosity that is defacing our city. Show no mercy, you dear, perfect, _aggravating little freaks!_

Why would Blossom _want _to be portrayed in such a merciless fashion? Why would she _want _to hide her feelings?

Just because she was the only person in the world to think that way—to actually _love _that monster—oh, so she wanted to keep up appearances, now did she? Because _no one _would ever understand—everyone _hates _him! Oh, isn't Blossom the _freak _for caring for that brute?

Of course she was a freak! No one else had ever loved him—no one else ever _could_—

What would Mojo have without her love—

No one else could ever—

She actually had the gall to _leave_—

NO! She COULDN'T! Didn't she UNDERSTAND that she was ALL he HAD?

He wasn't going to just let her LEAVE like this!

Mojo tore out of the library and to the front door. No—she wasn't going to go through with this! He would make her stay if it was the LAST thing he did!

And there she was! Standing by the door—her suitcase packed, her face shocked at the sight of him. Blossom. Of _course _she would be named Blossom. She couldn't be named anything else. So beautiful, so terribly beautiful that she made him rely on her for his own sanity—so beautiful, yet he wanted to pick the blossom's petals off, one by one.

"You _cannot _leave!" Mojo shouted at her. He felt his face burn with rage. Too much, too much! He was going to explode! And it was all her fault—always her fault!

"I told you, I won't let you threaten me into staying," she said. So calculating. He could kill her. "I can't stay here anymore…" She took a step towards the door. Fearfully. Yes, of course. She _should _be afraid.

"This is NOT a threat!" cried Mojo, grabbing her shoulders and ramming her against the door. Oh, feel her warm, soft flesh from beneath her shirt—look at those wide, intelligent pink eyes—just _smell _the sweet odor from her glossy hair—feel her tremble—she _should—_ "You _cannot _leave here—you are _mine!"_

"What makes you think that?" cried Blossom, trying in vain to struggle out of Mojo's grasp. Snippets of fear bombarded Mojo's mind—ah, of course she couldn't keep that barrier up for long! "I'm not yours! It was my _choice _to stay here, and it is my _choice _to leave! And right now, you are only proving to me that the choice to leave is the _right _one!"

What.

What?

_ **WHAT?** _

He was driving her away?

NO!

He COULDN'T be!

She LOVED him!

And he WOULDN'T let her leave!

"How DARE you, you ungrateful little bitch! I gave you EVERYTHING you ever wanted!" He pushed her against the door again—she gave a yelp of pain—good! "And you thank me by LEAVING me? I LOVE you! Does that mean NOTHING to you? Oh yes, of COURSE it doesn't." He laughed hollowly. It was a strange sound to him. Good. Let it be strange, let it scare her! "EVERYONE loves you. You think that what I have done for you can be obtained from anyone. Of course you would think THAT—you have NEVER known what it is like to be unloved! But I am the ONLY one who can give you what you REALLY want—and THIS is how you thank me!"

"You're insane," whispered Blossom fearfully. "You're truly and certifiably insane, Mojo. Now I _know _I can't stay."

"But you can't LEAVE either—you LOVE me!"

"Maybe… maybe I just love the _memory _of you, Mojo," she whispered, looking down at the floor. "I think I only love who you _used _to be… because I can't love you now."

Explosion.

Did she say something after that? Did someone knock on the door? Was a huge monster destroying Townsville again?

Mojo didn't know. The clanging and pounding in his head was too great to hear anything.

She lies.

She lies.

_ **SHE LIES.** _

"You LIE!"

"Let me go, Mojo."

"You LIE! You are MINE—do NOT try to escape!"

"I'm not yours—let me go! Please let me go! I want to go home!"

"This IS your home!"

"You're crazy—I don't love you—I _never _loved you—"

"MORE LIES!"

"Let me go—I never want to see you again!"

The clanging, THE CLANGING. He couldn't hear anything anymore. He couldn't even think.

He pushed her again against the door—_again—_make her hurt—make her suffer—make her—

Without warning, he yanked her down to his level and pressed his lips against hers in a tight, sweeping kiss.

Blossom lost it right then. Her mind collapsed, her thoughts once again with Mojo's, but by this time both their thoughts were too incoherent to matter. _Stop, stop, stop, _Blossom pleaded silently, although she was falling into his arms like a broken doll.

_Yes, yes, you ARE mine, _Mojo gloated, feeling her weakened body submit to him and debating whether to crush her, to hold her tenderly, to just continue kissing her and make her more and more his…

Blossom pulled her face away. "Stop!" she cried aloud, her eyes wet with tears. "Don't do this to me!"

"You WERE lying—I KNEW it!" cried Mojo, as Blossom's crushed, terrified thoughts flooded his own. "You DO still love me!"

_But I can't stay._

_Oh, yes you can. You WILL._

"No—I don't care anymore. I don't care how I feel for you. I'm LEAVING!"

With that, Blossom forcibly pushed Mojo away from her, sending him sprawled on the floor. "I'm leaving," she said again, her eyes narrowed. "You can't make me stay."

"FINE!" shouted Mojo. "Leave—see if I care! GO! Never darken my door again, you ungrateful, foolish little girl!"

"And I most certainly never will!" snapped Blossom. She opened the door, stormed out, and shut it with a slam.

And then, she blocked her thoughts from Mojo's mind again.

Mojo stared at the door, gasping with rage.

What a fool.

She was killing them both.

…

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Blossom, honey, you have to tell me! Your sisters said you didn't want to leave! Did Mojo hurt you?" The Professor was still hugging Blossom, even though it had been a good five minutes before she had appeared at the door, with puffy eyes and desperate whimper of, "Oh, Professor!"

"He told me the truth, that's what he did," said Blossom. "I promise, Professor, I'm going to lead a better life. I'm going to actually make a difference—"

"What are you talking about?" cried the Professor. "Did Mojo say that saving the day isn't a good use of your time? You can't listen to that, Blossom—"

"No—saving the day isn't enough! I need to better society with my knowledge! I've been nothing but a worthless bum my whole life, but I'm going to make up for that—I know more than almost anyone else on Earth! Only Mojo knows as much as I do—and he won't help at all! No, I have to do this myself!"

"Blossom—"

"I'll be in my room… I need time alone."

The Professor watched her fly listlessly up to her room.

What was troubling her so much…

…and why wouldn't she say it?

…

A few hours later…

"We're home, Professor!" Bubbles's sweet voice called out.

"Professor?" Buttercup said, looking around.

_Maybe he's down in the lab again, _thought Bubbles.

"Girls—" The Professor came in from the kitchen, looking relieved to see them. "Girls, Blossom came back this morning, and—"

"Oh my God, are you _serious?" _Buttercup gasped.

"We only talked to her yesterday—is she here for good?" Bubbles asked.

"I don't know," sighed the Professor. "She wouldn't give me any straight answers—she's been up in your room all afternoon. Could you… go and talk to her?... I'm worried about her…"

"But you don't want to intrude," said Bubbles, understanding.

"Well, leave it to me," said Buttercup. "I'm a qualified intruder."

"If nothing else, just try to find out what's got her so upset," said the Professor pleadingly.

"I've got a hunch that it's a certain monkey," muttered Buttercup, hovering up the stairs. Bubbles followed apprehensively.

_Be gentle, Buttercup! _Bubbles warned.

_Don't worry, I will be, _assured Buttercup. _But I'm going to make damn sure that we find out exactly what happened! She said she wasn't coming back until she felt like "a productive member of society again", and I doubt she could feel that way in less than twenty-four hours!_

She cracked open the door to their room. "Blossom!" she said. "Are you in…"

Her voice trailed off as she stared at the sight before her. Blossom was sprawled on her stomach on her bed, her eyes reddened with tears. She looked up at her sisters and quickly wiped away her tears.

"Oh… hello, Buttercup, Bubbles… I'm sorry I… I hate crying," she muttered to herself, her voice still breaking, however.

Bubbles floated over to Blossom and sat next to her, wrapping her arms around her waist in a comforting hug. "What's wrong, Blossom?"

"And why did you come back?" Buttercup asked, still hovering in the doorway. "Not that I mind, of course, but you said that you wouldn't come back until you felt productive again. And I don't think you could suddenly feel productive in less than twenty-four hours… and anyway, you don't _look _productive!"

"I'll never be productive," said Blossom bitterly. "I don't know what to do. I want to learn and be loved, but I can't even be happy then." She sniffed back incoming tears. "I hate crying. I HATE IT! I wish I was never born!"

"Don't say that!" gasped Bubbles.

"I do! I wish I was never born!" cried Blossom, shaking with emotion. "I can never be happy! I was never MEANT to be happy! I can't do anything right—I'm a hindrance to everyone on Earth!"

"No you're not!" cried Bubbles, trying to hug Blossom again. "We love you!"

"Even when I try to get what I want, it doesn't do anyone any good! It doesn't even do _me _any good! I wish I was dead!"

Buttercup had had enough of both Blossom's screeching and Bubbles's concerned attempts to calm Blossom down.

"_Get a hold of yourself!" _Buttercup screeched at Blossom, grabbing her by the shoulders.

"_DON'T GRAB ME LIKE THAT, FOR GOD'S SAKE!"_ bellowed Blossom, the force of her yell knocking both her sisters to the ground.

Bubbles and Buttercup exchanged glances.

_Be gentle, Buttercup, for goodness sake! _thought Bubbles.

_But be firm too! _thought Buttercup. _We'll never figure out what's bothering her with your method of "interrogation"!_

"Blossom, please, tell us what's wrong," said Bubbles quietly. "Did Mojo do something bad to you?"

"What kind of a question is that?" cried Blossom, glaring at her sisters. "He's been doing bad things to me my entire _life! _Why should things change now? I was crazy to think that they would! I was stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! I don't _deserve _to live!"

"Calm down, Blossom!" cried Buttercup. "Look, we don't even know what you're talking about. Calm down and tell us exactly what's happening!"

"That is, if you feel comfortable telling us," added Bubbles.

"The hell if you feel comfortable telling us," snapped Buttercup. "I can tell that you probably never _will _be ready to tell us, but we need to know. We're your family. Tell us—in a way that we can understand!"

Blossom sighed. "I don't know how I can make you understand, because _I _don't really understand, and I can't make you understand something that I don't understand… understand?"

Bubbles and Buttercup looked at each other again… and then burst out laughing.

"What?" Blossom demanded harshly. _"What?"_

"Sorry," giggled Bubbles. "It's just really obvious that you've been with Mojo for awhile."

"Oh God… did I really just say the word 'understand' five times in the same sentence?" Blossom cracked the smallest of smiles for about a millisecond. "Look, girls, I'm sorry for… well, for everything. I'm sorry I'm who I am. Everything is just—"

"Blossom!" cried Buttercup in frustration. "We get it that your self-esteem has been flushed down the toilet! We want to know _why _now!"

"It was something Mojo said to me today," sighed Blossom. "He said that I should be out _utilizing _my knowledge instead of spending all my life just trying to gain more. He's right—he's _completely _right—I've been wasting my entire life, and now it's too late to do anything to change that."

"You've been wasting your entire life?" Buttercup snorted. "Tell that to the thousands of people you've saved. You've done more in ten years than most people have done in a lifetime. You're a hero. And you're super-smart. Of course you'd want more knowledge!"

"But that was only for _me,_" said Blossom. "It was only for selfish reasons. Look at what I did to try to gain that—I ran away from home and skipped school to stay with an evil and psychotic chimp!" Blossom looked away sadly. "And he _is _psychotic. Girls… he was hiding thoughts from me… he still wants to take over the world, and he was planning on talking me into helping him… and either getting you two to join us… or to kill you."

Bubbles and Buttercup exchanged glances _again._

"We're talking about Mojo here," Buttercup finally said. "That really doesn't surprise me."

"I TRUSTED him!" Blossom exploded. "I thought I knew his every thought and so I TRUSTED him—I gave my soul to him—and what does he do? He calls me his PROPERTY! He went PSYCHOTIC on me when I said I was leaving! What can I do?" She flung herself back on her bed, laying on her stomach and pulling her pillow to her face. "Despite everything, he's still the only person on Earth I could ever love and learn from. And look where that's got me. I'm a wreck. I can never be happy. Mojo's my only chance of being happy… and I'll _never _be happy from him."

Bubbles hesitated for a moment before speaking. "You can be happy without romantic love, Blossom," she finally said. "Mojo's not your only chance. Don't say those things. You can stay here and maybe forg—"

She cut herself off before the entire word "forget" was out of her mouth, but Blossom knew what she had been about to say. "I wish I could forget, Bubbles, but you know I can't."

There was silence. Buttercup looked down at the floor, rubbing her upper arm awkwardly. There were too many awkward silences for her own liking lately.

"What are you going to do now?" she finally asked.

Blossom lifted her face from her pillow and shrugged sadly. "Try to get back to my normal life and act as if none of this ever happened, I suppose…"


	9. How Many Times?

Blossom went back to school the next day, doing her best to avoid all the questioning glares and whispered rumors of where she'd been. Despite her request to the contrary, Buttercup would shoot death-glares at anyone who gave Blossom an odd look… and _especially _to those who whispered underneath their breath that Blossom had been with some _guy._

The rumors quickly progressed into some _abusive _guy. It, of course, wasn't all that odd to see the Powerpuff Girls sporting black eyes, but no one could deny how slowly Blossom moved through the hallways, as if every motion she made pained her.

"Granny," they'd sneer at her. Blossom made no eye contact. She didn't speak at all in school anymore, and rarely at home. She seemed to spend all her time in her room, writing down… something. Plans for bettering society, apparently. When she was forced to leave her room, meal times for example, she'd keep her eyes averted from her family, as if she was too ashamed to even be in the same house as them.

Buttercup, then, had been surprised when Blossom accepted Bubbles's offer to play Scrabble one night about a week after her return. Surprised, but also, of course, a bit relieved. Perhaps she would _finally _be able to slip back into a normal life—well, as normal as a Powerpuff Girl's life could be.

It had been awhile since the girls had played Scrabble… and Bubbles soon remembered why.

"This isn't fair," she pouted. They were nearly finished with their game, and Blossom had a commanding lead, followed by the Professor—who had agreed to play with them—then Buttercup, and finally Bubbles.

"_Somebody's _got to get the bad tiles," smirked Buttercup.

"But I've gotten the Z _and _the Q—and now I just drew the X!" cried Bubbles. "I can't make words with these!"

"Sure you can," said Blossom. "There's loads of—"

"Not everyone's memorized the Scrabble dictionary like you have, Blossom!" screeched Bubbles.

Blossom smiled smugly. When she had been ten years old, she had read through the entire Scrabble dictionary, which gave her an almost unfair advantage over her sisters.

"Bubbles, don't fight with your sister," said the Professor sternly. "It's your turn, Buttercup."

Buttercup sighed in annoyance. "I know, I know," she muttered. Her seven tiles—S, U, E, E, E, J, and W—were leaving few options for her, especially on the rather crowded board. Sure, she could throw an E after a B or M… but that gave her diddly-squat for points.

"Here, I've got one," she said, smiling maliciously. She added tiles to the beginning of the word "SELF" that the Professor had played a couple of turns ago. "There. 'JESUSELF'. That's an elf with the qualities of Jesus."

"Take it off—there's no such word!" Bubbles cried.

"Oh, I think there is, isn't there?" said Buttercup, winking to Blossom. "Back me up here, sis."

Blossom grinned, playing along. "Yeah, she's right, Bubbles," she said slowly. "It is definitely a word. In fact, some of my best friends are Jesuselves."

"Blossom! Stop it! Professor!" wailed Bubbles.

The Professor just chuckled wearily. "It was bound to happen eventually." Utonium family Scrabble matches always seemed to end in a free-for-all in which the players just threw their remaining tiles on the board, trying to come up with the most outrageous word.

And Bubbles was not about to break that tradition. "Well, if you get to make up words, then so do I!" She added an E and an X to Buttercup's "JESUSELF". "There—'EXJESUSELF'! That's someone who _used _to be a Jesuself but isn't anymore!"

"No can do," said Buttercup, shaking her head seriously. "Once a Jesuself, always a Jesuself. There's no such thing as an 'ex-Jesuself'. Play a _real _word, seriously."

"I will when you will!" snapped Bubbles.

"Let me see your tiles," said Buttercup, flying behind Bubbles's shoulder.

"Stop! These are _my _tiles—go back to your own seat!"

"Ooh, Bubbles, just add this T on to your 'ex-Jesuself' and you'll get 'Tex-Jesuself'! That's a Jesuself who lives in Texas, and _that's _a word! Right, Blossom?"

"Uh… yeah…" Blossom's voice sounded pained.

"What's the matter, sweetie?" the Professor asked.

"It's nothing," said Blossom, gasping a bit.

"It sounds like a pretty painful 'nothing'," said Buttercup, the laugh in her voice gone.

"My chest hurts, that's all," moaned Blossom. "It's been hurting all… week…"

"Where does it hurt?" the Professor asked. "I might have something to—"

"No—I'll be fine—I just need to go lay down for a minute." Blossom sat up from her chair, but slowly, and wincing in pain, just like…

Buttercup suddenly realized _exactly _what it was like. It was like watching old ladies try to move around. Slowly. Painfully.

"Are you sure?" asked the Professor, getting up from his chair as well.

"Heck no," snapped Buttercup.

"No—I'm fine!" Blossom floated up to her room, but at a snails pace, as if even _flying _hurt her.

"What should we do?" Bubbles whispered, when they heard their bedroom door shut.

"We go and find out what's wrong with her," snapped Buttercup, _"that's _what."

"Find out exactly _what _in her chest is hurting her," said the Professor, his eyes full of worry. "I have a few things for heartburn, but if it's her lungs that are hurting and not her heart, I'll have to get her something else…"

"We'll figure it out," assured Buttercup.

…

"It hurts _everywhere, _Buttercup—I feel like I'm ninety years old!"

Blossom was laying face-up on her bed, staring at the ceiling, clutching a stuffed rabbit to her chest fiercely. Her breathing was slow and labored, and her eyes were wide with fear.

"Why would you be hurting like this?" Buttercup demanded. "You haven't really done anything to hurt yourself—"

"I've kept my mind closed from Mojo this whole week," Blossom said softly. "I was hoping that I wouldn't be able to feel his pain if I did that. But I think I am. I think… I think we might be dying."

"No," whispered Bubbles, shaking her head in denial. "You can't die yet. You just _can't."_

"What you can't do is jump to conclusions," said Buttercup firmly. "Maybe you _should _communicate with Mojo telepathically again, just to find out what's happening to you. Because maybe it only _is _your pain. Maybe it has nothing to do with Mojo at all. He couldn't fade that fast in just a _week!"_

"Unless…" Bubbles whispered.

"Unless what?" Blossom asked.

"You never said, Blossom… and you don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but… does Mojo love you?"

"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?" snapped Buttercup.

"Because… Blossom might be feeling his broken heart."

Blossom gasped. "Oh, Bubbles… it's _my _fault! It's _always _my fault! I've killed us both! He _does _love me, and—and I'm killing him!"

"Calm down, calm down!" cried Buttercup. "That's just an idea—it's not necessarily true!"

Blossom felt her eyes welling with tears again. She moved an arm to wipe them away, but too quickly—her arm flopped back to her side uselessly, too pained to do anything else. "I think it is true," she whispered hoarsely. "I'm killing him, and I'm killing myself too…"

She _could _do what Buttercup had suggested—she _could _reconnect with Mojo—but no, she wasn't going to give in to _that! _She was going to keep her thoughts _private _like they should be—who cared if she and Mojo should have been one and the same person—when you got right down to it, they simply _weren't, _and—but if she really _was _going to die—away from him—their last meeting—that kiss—oh God, that _kiss—_

"I don't even know why I still love him," she murmured aloud.

Buttercup coughed, a bit uncomfortably. "Well… no one ever _has _really understood love, from what I've gathered. Why should you? Despite the fact that you're a freaking genius and all…"

"I think I know why you still love him," Bubbles interrupted.

Buttercup and Blossom stared at their sister. _And why would THAT be, Miss Lonelyhearts? _Buttercup demanded silently.

"It's the same reason why I… um, why I kinda like Brick, and why I _still _kinda like him… even though he's beat me up so much, and even when he made me eat that cockroach when I was six." Bubbles shuddered. "I know how terrible he is, and that he's a violent jerk, but… that's what's missing from _me. _Everything that makes Buttercup different from me is what I don't have… and so, when I see that in a cute guy…" Her voice faltered. "Never mind. I'm not making any sense."

"Yes you are," Blossom said, her eyes wide with shock. "I love Mojo because… he's the missing part of _me… _and that's also why he loves me… despite how much we irritate each other…"

"Whoa, wait a minute," said Buttercup. "Does this mean I'm going to fall in love with a happy, prissy little thing? Ugh!"

"Blossom," said Bubbles gently, getting back to the matter at hand, "tell us where your chest hurts, so the Professor can get you something for it."

"I already told you—it hurts everywhere. If he has anything to give to someone suffering from the aches and pains from old age, that's what I need. But, really, don't bother… soon, all my pain will be gone."

"Shut the hell up," snapped Buttercup. "You're _not _going to die of a broken heart—a broken heart that isn't even yours. That kind of thing only happens in cheesy romance novels. Get sick from the stress it brings, maybe. But it _won't _kill you. Especially not with proper treatment!"

"Which we'll get right now," said Bubbles. "The Professor will know what to do."

"That's right," said Buttercup reassuringly. "He'll know what to do. Stay here, we'll bring him up to you." She and Bubbles zipped out of the room.

Blossom felt tears well up in her eyes once again, although this time they were not for her. They were for her sisters.

How could she tell them that, even if she wasn't going to die right just then…

…that she was slowly being killed anyway?

…

The next day, Blossom insisted on going to school, despite the Professor's urges to stay home. She was still in pain, but she was _determined _to make up for her skipping school earlier—and try to make something useful out of what she was sure were her last days on Earth.

How she could accomplish this at school, however, she didn't know. It was… well, as irritatingly boring as it had ever been. She felt _insulted _by what her teachers were saying—as if she hadn't known these things for years! Did they think she was _stupid _or something?

Mojo was right—school _was _below her now.

No! She wasn't going to think about him anymore—despite the prolonged pain that wracked her body even when she did nothing, the pain that she knew was his.

Damn, she couldn't even open the stupid _window._

Her teacher and all of the students in her class just stared at her dumbly, watching the leader of the Powerpuff Girls trying to force open the window, but hardly even moving it up at all. The sounds of a monster attack could be heard quite clearly, and the Powerpuff Girls had permission to leave class and save the day, of course, if such an attack could be heard. Usually they'd pry open the window and zip on out of the classroom, since everyone in Townsville had grown tired of having the girls crash in and out of ceilings.

Blossom finally gave up, gasping for breath. "I think… I think I'll just take the door," she said.

"I guess the abusive boyfriend knocked out all of her powers," a kid sneered under her breath as Blossom headed for the door.

Something snapped in Blossom when she heard that.

With one swift motion, she spun around and fired her eyebeams on the offending student, full-blast. The unfortunate girl screamed.

"_Blossom!" _cried the teacher, aghast.

Blossom was equally horrified at what she'd done. "I, uh… I've gotta go save the day!" she stammered, running out of the room as fast as her pained body would let her.

_I shouldn't be in school, _she bemoaned to herself as she managed to take to the air once outside. _I hurt her. I'm hurting everyone I know. _She glared fiercely at the monster—your typical huge, Godzilla-type creature, destroying everything in its path. _But I'll make it right. I HAVE to make it right._

CRASH!

"_Dammit!"_

Buttercup picked herself up from the wreckage and wiped blood away from a slash on her arm. Giving a battle cry, she zoomed back, straight for the monster.

"Buttercup, wait!" cried Blossom. "You need a plan before just flying in there and—"

"Blossom?" Buttercup stopped in midair and gave her sister a stern look. "What the hell are you doing here? You're in no condition to be fighting a monster!"

"I have to!" cried Blossom. "It's my duty as a crimefighter! Now—now give me some time to come up with a plan, and—"

"_**RWOAAAAAAR!"**_

"We don't have _time _for a plan!" cried Buttercup, as the monster charged its way towards them.

"Where's Bubbles?" asked Blossom.

"I don't know—I haven't seen her since—"

The monster was nearly at them. "No time! We'll have to work without her! _Double dive-'n-dunk!"_

The girls zipped off milliseconds before the monster's foot came crashing down on them and took to the sky, doing an impressive dive in the air and dipping back, straight for the monster's head.

BAM!

"Oh, crap," cried Buttercup. There should have been _two _punches to the monster's face, not just one. She had moved too fast—Blossom had fallen behind, and—

BAM! Blossom finally delivered her weak blow. The monster roared—she had angered it more than hurt it. "We need to hit him together," Blossom gasped to Buttercup. "On three—one, two—"

SWAT!

With one wave of its hand, the monster knocked Blossom and Buttercup out of the air. They both fell to the ground with a hollow crash.

Buttercup stood up quickly. "Dammit! What now, Blossom?"

Blossom heard her, but in a sort of far-away, unclear way, as if Buttercup's voice was a recording that someone had turned the volume down on. She tried to stand, but she couldn't. She couldn't move at all. Her vision was blurred. But she couldn't feel any pain, either.

Oh, God, no.

"Blossom? Blossom? Are you alright?" cried Buttercup, panicky.

"Blossom?" asked a new voice—a sweet, gentle, sing-song voice.

"Bubbles—" Blossom gasped, thanking her lucky stars that Bubbles was finally here— "Bubbles, you and Buttercup—do the double… the double d-d…"

"Double dive-'n-dunk!" Buttercup finished hoarsely. Far away. She sounded so far away. Oh God, why couldn't she feel anything? "Come on, Bubbles!" Buttercup and Bubbles flew off. Maybe. Everything was so detached… was she even still in her body? Was she even still alive?

She thought she heard a pow. From far away. And then a crash. A crash that sounded like a monster falling. Did they…

The monster, was it…

Oh God, she hadn't done _anything… _she loused it up _again…_

God, she couldn't _move…_

"Blossom!" Buttercup and Bubbles were at Blossom's side, pulling her up.

"Did you… did you defeat the…"

"Yeah, we got him—are you alright?" Buttercup said. "We didn't get hit that hard. Come on. You'll be okay."

"Hold onto me… I'm going to fall…" Blossom murmured. She could hardly hear herself. Everything was so soft…

"No… Blossom!" Bubbles cried, her eyes wide. Blossom would have cried if she hadn't forced out every tear in her body during the past weak. Poor Bubbles… she knew, didn't she…

"We'll get you to a hospital," said Buttercup, her eyes narrowing fiercely. Poor Buttercup. She was beginning to realize too… but she was in denial, of course… always denial for Buttercup…

"No," Blossom gasped out. "No… not the hospital… take me to Mojo's, please… I need to… apologize… face to face…"

"We don't have time for—" Buttercup began, but then stopped suddenly.

There was silence. Blossom looked up in fear. Did her hearing finally completely fail her? Was she dead already?

"Alright," Buttercup finally said. She grabbed one of Blossom's arms, while Bubbles grabbed the other, and carried her into the sky.

Oh, right. Blossom felt like giggling. Silly of her to forget. Forget! Her mind really _was _failing her. Bubbles and Buttercup had telepathy! Hee hee. Telepathy. Like what she had with Mojo. Yeah, that's right. She'd be hearing Mojo's thoughts too, if she weren't still holding up that barrier. It was tough. Damn. It was tough. But she was going to keep her mind her own, just for a little longer, so she could talk to him without him knowing what she was planning on saying before she said it. Because oh, was that annoying. So annoying. So annoying…

"Alright, we're at Mojo's…" said Buttercup.

Blossom tried to look around. Already? When had they crashed through the ceiling? Did they at all? How did they…

"Where is he?" she asked.

"We'll find him," assured Bubbles.

"And then we'll take you to a hospital," said Buttercup. "And you'll get better."

"Why doesn't it hurt?" Blossom murmured. "It's hurt all week. But not anymore. Bubbles, Buttercup, why don't I hurt anymore?"

"That's… that's a good sign," stammered Buttercup, as she and Bubbles flew Blossom in through the various rooms of Mojo's observatory.

"It's not as bad as I thought it would be," Blossom murmured. "Dying. It doesn't hurt. It's nice. All my pain's gone now."

"You're not dying," snapped Buttercup. "You're gonna be—"

She stopped and gasped at the sight before her. So did Bubbles. And Blossom finally felt a stab of pain again, although this time it was emotional pain.

Mojo was huddled in a corner of his kitchen, looking just as lifeless as Blossom must have. However, he was able to look at the Powerpuff Girls, and he surprisingly was able to pull himself into a standing position.

"I had a feeling… which is to say, a hunch… that you would be coming…"

"But, how did you… our thoughts… they're not…"

"I saw the monster attacking," said Mojo wearily. "And when I felt… this… I assumed and made an assumption that you had been hit… and knowing you as well as I do… I knew you'd come to apologize, ask for my forgiveness, and state that you are sorry."

"Put me down," Blossom whispered to her sisters. Numbly, they did, setting her down in front of Mojo. Unable to get up past her knees, Blossom scooted closer to him. Their faces were nearly at the same level.

She was absolutely certain now that she was dying. Dying—wasn't one's life supposed to flash before one's eyes? Blossom remembered everything—it should have happened—but there were only certain memories that were flashing before her as she gazed into Mojo's eyes.

She could remember screaming, she and her sisters terrified of the gang about to hurt them… and suddenly being rescued by a mysterious stranger.

She remembered a day at the zoo, a woman's harsh words, but a trusted friend's reassuring, _"All of you, deafen yourselves to their heartless words. They do not know it is their saviors they are speaking to. They are unaware that your actions will have helped change the world forever… Because we have helped the town and made it a better place."_

She remembered his words to her, later, alone: _"Of course I accepted you, Blossom. For we are very alike in our mutations, more alike than you know. No one else understands us, and for this reason I have taken you and your sisters in. Only together can we show Townsville what the four of us are really made of!"_

Where was the betrayal? Blossom knew it had happened, but her mind wasn't replaying that.

All it was replaying was the care of the past few weeks. The loving touches. The kiss, God, the kiss, although nothing of what led up to it.

He wouldn't be dying—_neither _of them would be dying—if she had listened to Buttercup and hadn't tried to fight that monster. If she had listened to the Professor and just stayed home from school that day. If she had listened to Mojo and never left him at _all._

How many times could this be all her fault?

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

And, without anything holding her back, she pulled him towards her in a gentle, tender kiss.

She didn't hear Bubbles's slight gasp or Buttercup's mild disgust. She hardly even felt her hands on his face, or his arms wrapped around her shoulders as he returned the kiss.

All she could think was, oh, didn't it figure.

Her first—her last—her _only _true, all-encompassing, tender, romantic kiss. The moment that all girls dream of, whether they'll admit it or not. It would be one of her last actions. It was only _now. _And only with _him. _Of course. Couldn't have been anyone else.

He pulled his face away from hers, almost reluctantly. "You know, Blossom," he said, with great effort, "I always thought that I would get such great pleasure out of your death. Unfortunately… this pleasure of which I speak is not currently forthcoming."

"Things didn't go the way either of us planned, it seems," murmured Blossom.

"But, I think… I think I know how I may be able to remedy said situation," said Mojo.

With a sudden, swift motion, he pulled a butcher knife from behind him and plunged it into Blossom's heart.

Blossom probably cried out. Probably. Probably. She didn't know. She lost her grip on her mind, right then, suddenly in Mojo's again for a few brief seconds. She knew all. She understood all. Of _course _he'd do that. He was Mojo up until the very end—that desire to destroy the Powerpuff Girls had never left him at all.

Mojo dropped the knife and held a hand to his own chest. And pulled his hand away—his white glove was stained with red.

Why?

Did it matter anymore?

_I hate you, I hate you, I understand but I hate you, _these words fluttered through both their minds, both unable to discern whose thoughts they were.

Probably didn't matter anymore anyway.

Probably didn't…

Probably…

It was only when they both fell dead on the floor that Bubbles began to scream.


	10. Epilogue

_Five years later…_

The city of Townsville!

One wouldn't think that Townsville could boost such an impressive population. It was no secret that the city had long been bombarded by every sort of attack imaginable. Monsters, bank robbers, evil mutated villains, freak forces of nature, aliens… you name it, Townsville had it.

But Townsville had something else, too. She was their poster child. She was their hero.

And, that cold January night, she was slowly trudging her way through a dark cemetery, flowers in her hands.

She had been one of the Powerpuff Girls. People would still sometimes get nostalgic for those days. Nostalgia didn't change anything, however. One of the girls was dead, and one had run off. But they still had their mascot. Her face appeared on Townsville billboards. She would always be called upon to give speeches at opening ceremonies, special events, and the like. And she still fought crime.

She attended Townsville University… she was a history major, of all things. It probably didn't matter. She'd be working for the city government for the rest of her life.

A cold wind cut at her, and she shivered from underneath her coat.

It had been a couple of years ago when she had started working as a secretary in the courthouse. A job that the mayor was willing to let her leave from any time there was an emergency. Ms. Bellum was the mayor now. The former mayor, after all those years, died just a couple of days after Blossom had. Some people called it ironic. Some people called it strangely touching. The remaining Powerpuff Girl called it maddeningly tragic.

She had told Ms. Bellum that she couldn't possibly keep fighting crime along with a job. She was at that age, after all. She _needed _a job. Ms. Bellum had been understanding and hired her to work for the city government. She got paid to do her secretarial duties, she got paid to give speeches, she even got paid to save the day.

Everyone in Townsville adored her. She was friendly, polite, well-spoken… and she was tough on crime.

Some people were even starting to forget that, once upon a time, she had been accompanied by two sisters. Two sisters who were fading out of everyone's memories.

The young woman stopped in front of a simple tombstone, adorned with a few American flags and stuffed animals from admirers. Most people were forgetting, but some remembered the calculating, analytical hero, Blossom Utonium.

Her sister stared at the tombstone for awhile, before pulling a loose strand of hair away from her green eyes and finally speaking.

"I can't believe it's been five years."

The headstone gave no answer. Buttercup continued her reverent silence.

Five years ago, it had been Buttercup who had to tell the Professor what had happened. Bubbles had screamed and screamed and screamed before finally tearing off into the air. Buttercup was too dazed to make much of that. She figured that Bubbles would come back once she had calmed down a bit.

She hadn't seen her since.

Buttercup told the Professor the truth, every last detail that she knew. A story that the rest of Townsville didn't know, and would likely never know.

The story printed in the papers, the story told at Blossom's funeral, was that the monster that day had given her a fatal injury, and she had died before reaching the hospital.

Maybe, someday, Buttercup would tell them the truth.

But for now, they didn't know.

They didn't even know what Buttercup had done, after the funeral and before the burial.

Buttercup asked for one last time alone with her sister. It had been a closet-casket funeral. She had looked too ghastly for the coffin to be open. Buttercup didn't even want to see her body again. But she had to. She couldn't avoid looking at her when she opened the coffin up… and placed Mojo in with her.

What else could she have done with his body?

No one noticed. No one suspected, of course. Most of Townsville assumed Mojo had died long before then.

During the burial, Buttercup had been fuming the entire time. Most everyone probably assumed she was angry that Blossom had died. How could they have known that Buttercup had placed the body of her sister's murderer in with her? And yet, it wasn't that simple. Blossom wouldn't have died if it hadn't been for Mojo, but Mojo wouldn't have died if it hadn't been for Blossom.

After all the well-wishers of town had left, and only Buttercup and the Professor were left at the grave, Buttercup's scowl had softened into sadness. It wasn't necessarily accepting, but she still felt a sort of peace… as much peace as she could feel, given the situation, that is.

As for Bubbles… who knew? Buttercup only hoped that Bubbles was finding peace as well, wherever she was.

She had tried communicating with her. It was only until after the funeral that Bubbles finally answered. _I'm safe, Buttercup, don't worry about me. I need time alone. I can't stay in Townsville. It's too hard for me. And I don't know if I'll ever be ready to come back. I'm going to create a new life for myself, somewhere where I hopefully won't mess up again._

_Bubbles, it's not your fault—_

_Yes, it is! If I had gotten to that monster sooner it wouldn't have hurt Blossom. And if I hadn't insisted to you that we take Blossom to Mojo before going to the hospital, he wouldn't have killed her, and she might have lived. I'll be alright, Buttercup. Tell the Professor I'm sorry. Tell him I love him, and I love you too._

Buttercup would, on occasion, send a thought to Bubbles, such as on their birthday or Christmas, but Bubbles never answered. Buttercup could only guess at what Bubbles was doing, or where she was. Probably some tiny village in a remote country, where no one would be on the lookout for the lost Powerpuff Girl. She could speak any language, after all. She could 'hide' anywhere. Not like anyone could force her to come back if she was found, anyway.

So it was just Buttercup left in Townsville. Twenty years old, the toast of the city, a fairly bright college student, still living with her father. Buttercup knew that she _had _to stay with the Professor, and probably always would. Blossom's death alone had crushed him. Bubbles's disappearance only reinforced his grief. He spent all his time at home in the lab, pouring his soul into his experiments, and probably would have become a total recluse if not for Buttercup's care.

For her part, Buttercup tried to keep a bright, cheerful attitude in the house. She'd joke with the Professor, go on outings with him, and, most importantly, give him a hug at least once a day. She never cried in front of him. She never apologized to him that _she _was the sole remaining Powerpuff Girl—it should have been Blossom, who he always identified with most, or Bubbles, who had been the sweetest and most loveable. But no, the remaining girl was Buttercup—the one who had always been a bit detached from her father; the snarling, sarcastic daughter.

But now she was all he had left.

She didn't cry much anymore. Like Blossom, she hated crying. But when she _did _cry, she made sure that no one was around.

She could feel herself tearing up right then, looking at Blossom's grave.

"It's so hard, without you," she said. Being the only one left, she still had to be Buttercup. The whole town expected her to be Buttercup. But she also had to be Bubbles, and Blossom, and even Mojo if she wanted absolute perfection. All four of them were needed.

But Buttercup couldn't be a true, perfect blend of herself, Bubbles, Blossom, and Mojo.

Perfection always eluded her.

And it probably always would.

"I think I know why the experiment split," said Buttercup. "Professor wanted us to be perfect… but I don't think perfection exists, not even by science. That's why…" She gulped, leaving the rest unsaid.

Buttercup placed the sprig of flowers on the grave, knowing fully well that the frost would kill them by morning.

"I miss you," she said softly.

A tear fell from her face and onto the flower, freezing there.

Sniffing back further tears, Buttercup flew away, leaving her crystallized tear frozen on the small, dying blossom.

THE END.


End file.
